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University  of  California,  San  Diego 
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As  though  she  said,  ^'Beware .'  " 

{Page  341.) 


ECLECTIC  EDUCATIONAL  SERIES. 


MCQUFFBY'S 


SIXTH 


ECLECTIC    READER 


REVISED  EDITION. 


VAN  ANTWERP,   BRAGG   &  CO., 
CINCINNATI.  NEW  YORK, 


Eclectic  Educational  Series. 

McGuffey''s    Eclectic   Speller. 
McGuffefs    Eclectic   Readers. 
Hai  vey^s    Language    Course. 
Ray's   New   Arithmetics. 
Eclectic    Geographies. 
Eclectic   Penmanship. 
Venalile^s    U.    S.    History. 
Thalheimer' s   Historical  Series. 
Etc.,       Etc. 

Descriptive    Circulars   and   Price   List  on 
application   to   the  Publishers. 


COPYEIGHT, 

1879, 
BY  Van  Antwerp,   Bragg  &  Co. 


ECLECTIC  PRirao 
VAN  ANTWERP,   l^^  ^ 
CINCINNATI 


In  the  Sixth  Reader,  the  general  plan  of  the  revision 
of  MCGufpey's  Series  has  been  carefully  carried  out  to 
completion. 

That  plan  has  been  to  retain,  throughout,  those  character- 
istic features  of  MCGuffey's  Readers,  which  have  made  the 
series  so  popular,  and  caused  their  wide-spread  use  throughout 
the  schools  of  the  country.  At  the  same  time,  the  books  have 
been  enlarged;  old  pieces  have  been  exchanged  for  new  wlier- 
ever  the  advantage  was  manifest;  and  several  new  features 
have  been  incorporated,  which  it  is  thought  will  add  largely 
to  the  value  of  the  series. 

In  the  revision  of  the  Sixth  Reader,  the  introductory 
matter  has  been  retained  with  but  little  change,  and  it  will  be 
found  very  valuable  for  elocutionary  drill.  In  the  prepara- 
tion of  this  portion  of  the  work,  free  use  was  made  of  the 
writings  of  standard  authors  upon  Elocution,  such  as  Walker, 
McCulloch,  Sheridan  Knowles,  Ewing,  Pinnock,  Scott,  Bell, 
Graham,   Mylins,    Wood,   Rush,   and   many  others. 

In  making  up  the  Selections  for  Reading,  great  care  and 
deliberation  have  been  exercised.  The  best  pieces  of  the  old 
book  are  retained  in  the  Revised  Sixth,  and  to  these  have 
been  added  a  long  list  of  selections  from  the  best  English 
and  American  literature.  Upwards  of  one  hundred  leading 
authors  are  represented  (see  "Alphabetical  List  of  Authors," 
page  ix),  and  thus  a  wide  range  of  specimens  of  the  best 
style  has  been  secured.  Close  scrutiny  revealed  the  fact  that 
many  popular  selections,  common  to  several  series  of  Readers, 
had  been  largely  adapted,  but  in  MCGuffey's  Revised  Read- 
ers, wherever  it  was  possible  to  do  so,  the  selections  have  been 
compared,  and  made  to  conform  strictly  with  the  originals  as 
they  appear  in  the  latest  editions  authorized  by  the  several 
writers. 

(HI) 


IV  PREFACE. 

The  character  of  the  selections,  aside  from  their  elocution- 
ary value,  has  also  heen  duly  considered.  It  will  be  found, 
upon  examination,  that  they  present  the  same  instructive  merit 
and  healthful  moral  tone  which  gave  the  preceding  edition  its 
high   reputation. 

Two  new  features  of  the  Revised  Sixth  deserve  especial 
attention — the  explanatory  notes,  and  the  biographical  notices 
of  authors.  The  first,  in  the  absence  of  a  large  number  of 
books  of  reference,  are  absolutely  necessary,  in  some  cases,  for 
the  intelligent  reading  of  the  piece;  and  it  is  believed  that 
in  all  cases  they  Avill  add  largely  to  the  interest  and  usefulness 
of  the  lessons. 

The  biographical  notices,  if  properly  used,  are  hardly  of  less 
value  than  the  lessons  themselves.  They  have  been  carefully 
prepared,  and  are  intended  not  only  to  add  to  the  interest  of 
the  pieces,  but  to  supply  information  usually  obtained  only 
by  the  separate  study  of  English  and  American  literature. 

The  illustrations  of  the  Revised  Sixth  Reader  are  pre- 
sented as  specimens  of  fine  art.  They  are  the  work  of  the 
best  artists  and  engravers  that  could  be  secured  for  the  pur- 
pose in  this  country.  The  names  of  these  gentlemen  may  be 
found  on  page  ten. 

The  publishers  would  here  repeat  their  acknowledgments  to 
the  numerous  friends  and  critics  who  have  kindly  assisted  in 
the  work  of  revision,  and  Avould  mention  particularly  Presi- 
dent Edvtin  C.  Hewett,  of  the  State  Normal  University, 
Normal,  Illinois,  and  the  Hon.  Thomas  W.  Harvey,  of  Paines- 
ville,  Ohio,  who  have  had  the  revision  of  the  Sixth  Reader 
under  their  direct  advice. 

Especial  acknowledgment  is  due  to  Messrs.  Houghton,  Os- 
good &  Co.,  for  their  permission  to  make  liberal  selections 
from  their  copyright  editions  of  many  of  the  foremost  Amer- 
ican authors  whose  works  they  pubUsh. 

January,  1880. 


ESTTRODUCTIOK 

Subject.  i  Page. 

I.  Articulation 11 

II.  Inflection 18 

III.  Accent  and  Emphasis 33 

IV.  Instructions  for  Reading  Verse 39 

V.  The  Voice 46 

VI.  Gesture 65 


SELECTIONS  FOR  READING. 

Title.  Author.       Page. 

1.  Anecdote  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle.     Blackwood's  Magazine.  63 

2.  The  Needle Samuel  Woodworth.  67 

3.  Dawn Edward  Everett.  68 

4.  Description  of  a  Storm       .        .        .        Benjamin  Disraeli.  70 

5.  After  the  Thunder-storm    .        .        .  ■     .    James  Thomson.  72 

6.  House-cleaning Francis  Hopkinson.  73 

7.  Schemes  of  Life  often  Illusory          .         .    Samuel  Johnson.  78 

8.  The  Brave  Old  Oak      .         .         .  Henry  Fothergill  Chorley.  81 

9.  The  Artist  Surprised 82 

10.  Pictures  of  Memory Alice  Gary.  88 

11.  The  Morning  Oratorio          ....         Wilson  Flagg.  90 

12.  Short  Selections  in  Poetry: 

I.  The  Cloud      .        , John  Wilson.  94 

II.  My  Mind William  Byrd.  94 

III.  A  Good  Name       ....    William  Sliakesi^eare.  95 

IV.  Sunrise James  Thomson.  95 

V.  Old  Age  and  Death     ....    Edmund  Waller.  95 

VI.  Milton John  Dryden.  96 

(V) 


vi 


CONTENTS. 


13. 
14. 
15. 
16. 
17. 
18. 
19. 
20. 
21. 
22. 
23. 
24. 


Title.  Author. 

Death  of  Little  Nell Charles  Dickens. 

Vanity  of  Life  .  .  .  Johann  Gottfried  von  Herder. 
A  Political  Pause  ....  Charles  James  Fox. 
My  Experience  in  Elocution  ....  John  Neal. 
Elegy  in  a  Country  Church-yard      .        .         Thomas  Gray. 

Tact  and  Talent 

Speech  hefore  the  Virginia  Convention  .  Patrick  Henry. 
The  American  Flag     .        .        .        Joseph  Rodman  Drake. 

Ironical  Eulogy  on  Debt 

The  Three  Warnings    ....  Hester  Lynch  Thrale. 


The  Memory  of  Our  Fathers 
Short  Selections  in  Prose: 
I.  Dryden  and  Pope         .        . 
II.  Las  Casas  Dissuading  from  Battle 

III.  Action  and  Repose 

IV.  Time  and  Change 


25. 
26. 
27. 
28. 
29. 
30. 
31. 
32. 
33. 
34. 
35. 
36. 
37. 
38. 
39. 
40. 
41. 
42. 
4.3. 
44. 
45. 
46. 
47. 
48. 
49. 
50. 


Lyman  Beecher. 

Samuel  Johnson. 
R.  B.  Sheridan. 
John  Ruskin. 
Sir  Humphry  Davy. 
V.  The  Poet        ....   William  Ellery  Channing. 

VI.  Mountains William  Howitt. 

The  Jolly  Old  Pedagogue  ....  George  Arnold. 
The  Teacher  and  Sick  Scholar  .  .  .  Charles  Dickens. 
The  Snow-shower         .        .        .        William  Cullen  Bryant. 


Character  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte 

Napoleon  at  Rest 

War 

Speech  of  Walpole  in  Reproof  of  Mr.  Pitt 

Pitt's  Reply  to  Sir  Robert  Walpole  . 

Character  of  Mr.  Pitt 

The  Soldier's  Rest 

Henry  V.  to  his  Troops 

Speech  of  Paul  on  Mars'  Hill 

God  is  Every-where 

La  Fayette  and  Robert  Raikes 

Fall  of  Cardinal  Wolsey     . 

The  Philosopher  . 

Marmion  and  Douglas 

The  Present  .... 

The  Baptism 

Sparrows         .... 

Observance  of  the  Sabbath 

God's  Goodness  to  Such  as  Fear  Him 

Character  of  Columbus 

"He  Giveth  His  Beloved  Sleep 

Description  of  a  Siege 

Marco  Bozzaris 


Charles  Phillips. 

John  Pierpont. 

Charles  Sumner. 

Sir  R.  Walpole. 

.  William  Pitt. 

Henry  G rattan. 

.    Sir  Walter  Scott. 

.   William  Shakespeare. 

.       Bible. 

Joseph  Hutton. 

Thomas  S.  Grimkg. 

.   William  Shakespeare. 

John  P.  Kennedy. 

.   Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 

.  John  Wilson. 

Adeline  D.  Train  Whitney. 

Gardiner  Spring. 

.  "   .       Bible. 

Washington  Irving. 

Elizabeth  B.  Browning. 

.    Six-  Walter  Scott. 

,    Fitz-Greene  Halleck. 


Page. 
96 
100 
102 
104 
108 
113 
115 
119 
121 
124 
128 

130 
130 
131 
131 
132 
132 
133 
135 
141 
143 
146 
148 
151 
152 
154 
156 
158 
160 
161 
163 
167 
171 
176 
178 
180 
185 
186 
189 
192 
195 
197 
202 


CONTENTS. 


vu 


51. 
52. 
53. 
54. 
55. 
56. 
57. 
58. 
59. 
60. 
61. 
62. 
63. 
64. 
65. 
66. 
67. 
68. 
69. 
70. 
71. 
72. 
73. 
74. 
75. 
76. 
77. 
78. 
79. 
80. 
81. 
82. 
83. 
84. 
85. 
86. 
87. 
88. 
89. 
90. 
91. 
92. 
93. 
94. 


TlTIiE. 

Song  of  the  Greek  Bard 

North  American  Indians 

Lochiel's  "Warning 

On  Happiness  of  Temper 

The  Fortune-teller 

Rienzi's  Address  to  the  Romans 

The  Puritan  Fathers  of  New  England 


Author. 

Lord  Geovge  Gordon  Byron 

.    Charles  Sprague. 

Thomas  Campbell 

Oliver  Goldsmith 

Henry  Mackenzie. 

Mary  Russell  Mitford. 

F.W.  P.  Greenwood. 


Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  .    Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans. 
Necessity  of  Education        ....    Lyman  Beecher, 


Riding  on  a  Snow-plow      .         Benj 

The  Quarrel  of  Brutus  and  Cassius 

The  Quack     . 

Rip  Van  Winkle   . 

Bill  and  Joe  . 

Sorrow  for  the  Dead    . 

The  Eagle 

Political  Toleration 

What  Constitutes  a  State? 

The  Brave  at  Home    . 

South  Carolina 

Massachusetts  and  South  Carolina 

The  Church  Scene  from  Evangeline 

Song  of  the  Shirt         .... 


amin  Franklin  Taylor. 

William  Shakespeare. 

.    John  Tobin. 

Washington  Irving. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

Washington  Irving. 

James  Gates  Percival. 

Thomas  Jefferson. 

Sir  William  Jones. 

Thomas  Buchanan  Read. 

Robert  Young  Hayne. 

.     Daniel  Webster, 

H.  W.  Longfellow. 

Thomas  Hood. 


Diamond  cut  Diamond.     Edouard  Ren6  Lefebvre-Laboulaye. 

Thanatopsis William  Cullen  Bryant. 

Indian  Jugglers William  Hazlitt. 

Antony  over  Caesar's  Dead  Body  .  William  Shakespeare. 
The  English  Character        .  William  Hickling  Prescott. 

The  Song  of  the  Potter.  .  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 
A  Hot  Day  in  New  York  .  .  William  Dean  Howells. 
Discontent. — An  Allegory  ....     Joseph  Addison. 

Jupiter  and  Ten James  T.  Fields. 

Scene  from  "The  Poor  Gentleman"        .      George  Colman. 

My  brother's  Picture William  Cowper. 

Death  of  Samson John  Milton. 

An  Evening  Adventure 

The  Barefoot  Boy  .  .  .  John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 
The  Glove  and  the  Lions    .  James  Henry  Leigh  Hunt. 

The  Folly  of  Intoxication  .        .        .   William  Shakespeare. 

Starved  Rock Francis  Parkman. 

Prince  Henry  and  Falstaff.         .        .   William  Shakespeare. 

Studies Sir  Francis  Bacon. 

Surrender  of  Granada  .  Sir  Edward  George  Bulwer-Lytton. 
Hamlet's  Soliloquy       ....   William  Shakespeare. 


Pask. 
205 
209 
211 
215 
218 
221 
223 
226 
228 
231 
234 
238 
242 
246 
249 
251 
253 
255 
256 
257 
259 
262 
266 
269 
275 
278 
281 
286 
290 
292 
295 
301 
303 
310 
312 
315 
317 
321 
322 
325 
327 
332 
334 
339 


VIU 


CONTENTS. 


95. 

9U. 

97. 

98. 

99. 
100. 
101. 
102. 
103. 
104. 
105. 
106. 
107. 
108. 
109. 
110. 
111. 
112. 
113. 
114. 
115. 
116. 
117. 
118. 
119. 
120. 
121. 
122. 
123. 
124. 
125. 
126. 
127. 
128. 
129. 
130. 
131. 
132. 
133. 
134. 
135. 
136. 
137. 
1.3S. 


Title. 
Ginevra        .... 
Inventions  and  Discoveries 
Enoch  Arden  at  the  Window 


Adthok. 

Samuel  Rogei-s. 

John  Caldwell  Calhoun. 

.  Alfred  Tennyson. 


Lochinvar Sir  Walter  Scott, 

Speech  on  the  Trial  of  a  Murderer         .    Daniel  Webster, 
The  Closing  Year        .        .        .     George  Denison  Prentice 


Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 

.  .    Daniel  Webster. 

John  Tyndall. 

William  Wirt, 

William  Shakespeare, 

Richard  H.  Dana,  Jr, 

.      T.  B.  Macaulay, 

.     Edmund  Burke 

.  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

Orville  Dewey 


A  New  City  in  Colorado  . 
Importance  of  the  Union 
The  Influences  of  the  Sun 
Colloquial  Powers  of  Franklin 
The  Dream  of  Clarence     . 
Homeward  Bound 
Impeachment  of  Warren  Hastings 
Destruction  of  the  Carnatic 

The  Raven 

A  View  of  the  Colosseum 

The  Bridge  ....  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 
Objects  and  Limits  of  Science  .  Robert  Charles  Winthrop 
The  Downfall  of  Poland  .        .        .         Thomas  Campbell, 

Labor Horace  Greeley. 

The  Last  Days  of  Herculaneum  .  Edwiji  Atherstone, 
How  Men  Reason  ,  .  .  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 
Thunder-storm  on  the  Alps  ....  Lord  Byron, 
Origin  of  Property     .        .        .        Sir  William  Blackstone, 

Battle  of  Waterloo Lord  Byron. 

"With  Brains,  Sir" John  Brown, 

The  New  England  Pastor         .        .        .  Timothy  Dwight, 

Death  of  Absalom Bible 

Abraham  Davenport  .  .  .  John  Greenleaf  Whittier, 
The  Falls  of  the  Yosemite  .  .  Thomas  Starr  King 
A  Psalm  of  Life  .  .  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 
Franklin's  Entry  into  Philadelphia.  Benjamin  Franklin, 
Lines  to  a  Water-fowl  .  .  William  Cullen  Bryant, 
Goldsmith  and  Addison    .William  Makepeace  Thackeray, 

.    Joseph  Addison. 
Jared  Sparks, 


Immortality  of  the  Soul    . 
Character  of  Washington  . 
Eulogy  on  Washington 
The  Solitary  Reaper  . 
Value  of  the  Present 
Happiness    .... 

Marion 

A  Common  Thought 

A  Definite  Aim  in  Reading 

Ode  to  Mt  Bl.anc 


.    Henry  Lee. 

.  William  Wordsworth. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

.    Alexander  Pope. 

William  Gilmore  Simms. 

Henry  Timrod. 

.  Noah  Porter. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


Page. 
340 
344 
347 
350 
352 
355 
358 
362 
364 
366 
368 
371 
375 
379 
382 
389 
392 
394 
396 
398 
401 
405 
408 
410 
415 
417 
419 
420 
424 
426 
429 
431 
434 
435 
438 
440 
444 
446 
447 
451 
453 
456 
457 
462 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  OF  AUTHORS. 


NAME. 

PAGE. 

NAME. 

PAGE. 

1. 

Addison,  Joseph 

295, 

438 

38. 

Goldsmith 

.       215 

2. 

Arnold,  George 

133 

39. 

Grattan,  Henry    . 

.    154 

3. 

Atherstone.  Edwin 

401 

40. 

Gray,  Thomas  . 

.    108 

4. 

Bacon,  Sir  Francis 

332 

41. 

Greeley,  Horace   . 

.    398 

5. 

Beecher,  Lyman     . 

126 

228 

42. 

Greenwood,  F.  W.  P. 

.    223 

6. 

Bible,  The 

160, 

189 

420 

43. 

GRiMKfi,  Thomas  S. 

.    163 

7. 

Blackstone,  Sir  William 

410 

44. 

Halleck,  Fitz-Greene 

.     202 

8. 

Blackwood's  Magazine 

63 

45. 

Hayne,  Robert  Young 

.    257 

9. 

Brown,  John    . 

417 

46. 

Hazlitt,  William    . 

.    278 

10. 

Browning,  Elizabeth  B. 

195 

47. 

Hermans,  Felicia  D. 

.    226 

11. 

Bryant 

141, 

275 

434 

48. 

Henry,  Patrick 

.    115 

12. 

Bulwer-Ly-tton. 

334 

49. 

Holmes 

.    246,  405 

13. 

Burke,  Edmund 

379 

50. 

Hood,  Thomas  . 

.    266 

14. 

Byrd,  William 

94 

51. 

Hopkinson,  Francis 

.      73 

15. 

Byron 

205, 

408 

415 

52. 

HOWELLS,  W.  D. 

.    292 

16. 

Calhoun,  John  C.    . 

344 

53. 

Howitt,  William    . 

.    132 

17. 

Campbell,  Thomas  . 

211, 

396 

54. 

Hunt,  Leigh     . 

.    321 

18. 

Cary,  Alice 

88 

55. 

HuTTON,  Joseph 

.    161 

19. 

Channing,  William 

Ellery. 

132 

56. 

Irving       ...    19 

2,  242,  249 

20. 

Chorley,  H.  F. 

81 

57. 

Jackson,  Helen  Hunt 

.    358 

21. 

Coleridge  . 

462 

58. 

Jefferson,  Thomas 

.    253 

22. 

CoLMAN,  George 

303 

59. 

Johnson,  Samuel    . 

78,  130 

23. 

Cowper 

310 

60. 

Jones,  Sir  William 

.    255 

24. 

Dana,  Richard  H.,  Jr.  . 

371 

61. 

Kennedy,  John  P.  . 

.     171 

25. 

Davy,  Sir  Humphry 

131 

62. 

King,  Thomas  Starr 

.    426 

26. 

Dewey,  Orville 

389 

63. 

Lee,  Henry 

.    444 

27. 

Dickens 

9G, 

135 

64. 

Lefebvre-Laboulaye 

.     269 

28. 

Disraeli,  Benjamin 

70 

65. 

LdNGFELLOW      .     262,  29C 

,  392,  429 

29. 

Drake,  Joseph  Rodman 

119 

66. 

Macaulay 

.    375 

30. 

Dryden 

96 

67. 

Mackenzie,  Henry 

.    218 

31. 

DwiGHT,  Timothy   . 

419 

68. 

Milton 

.    312 

32. 

Emerson     . 

447 

69. 

MiTFORD,  Mary  Russell 

.     221 

33. 

Everett     . 

68 

70. 

Neal,  John 

.    104 

34. 

Fields,  James  T. 

301 

71. 

Parkman,  Francis 

.    325 

35. 

Flagg,  Wilson 

90 

72. 

Percival,  J.  G. 

.    251 

36. 

Fox,  Charles  James 

102 

73. 

Phillips,  Charles  . 

.    143 

37. 

Franklin,  Benjamin 

431 

74. 

Plerpont,  John 

.    146 

(ix) 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  OF  A  UTHORS. 


NAME. 

PAGE.        1 

NAME. 

PAGE. 

75. 

Pitt    .... 

152 

93. 

Taylor,  B.  F.         .       . 

.    231 

76. 

PoE,  Edgar  Allan  . 

382 

94. 

Tennyson 

.    347 

77. 

Pope   .... 

451 

95. 

Thackeray     . 

.    435 

78. 

Porter,  Noah  . 

457 

96. 

Thomson,  James     . 

72,95 

79. 

Prentice,  Geo.  D.    . 

355 

97. 

Thrale,  Hester  Lynch 

.     124 

80. 

Prescott    . 

286 

98. 

Timrod,  Henry 

.     456 

81. 

Procter,  Adelaide  Anne 

178 

99. 

ToBiN,  John   . 

.     238 

82. 

Read,  T.  B. 

256 

100. 

Tyndall 

.     364 

83. 

Rogers,  Samuel 

340 

101. 

von  Herder.  J.  G.  . 

.     100 

84. 

RusKiN,  John  . 

131 

102. 

Waller,  Edmind  . 

.      95 

85. 

Scott         .       .     156, 

176, 

197 

,350 

103. 

Walpole  .... 

.    151 

86. 

Shakespeare    . 

95, 

158 

,167 

104. 

Webster  .       .       .     259, 

352,  362 

234,  281,  322 

327, 

339 

,368 

105. 

Whitney,  Adeline  D.  T. 

.    185 

87. 

Sheridan,  R.  B. 

130 

106. 

Whittier 

317,  424 

88. 

SIMMS,  William  Gilmore 

453 

107. 

Wilson,  John 

94,  180 

89. 

Sparks,  Jared 

440 

108. 

Winthrop,  R.  C.     . 

.    394 

90. 

Sprague,  Charles  . 

209 

109. 

Wirt,  William 

.    366 

91. 

Spring,  Gardiner    . 

186 

110. 

Woodworth,  Samuel  . 

.      67 

92. 

Sumner 

148 

111. 

Wordsworth  . 

.    446 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Ginevra  Frontispiece 

Drawn  by  H.  F.  Farny.        Engraved  by  Timothy  Cole. 

Duke  of  Newcastle 65 

Drawn  by  H.  F.  Farny.        Engraved  by  F.  Juengling. 

Gray's  Elegy 112 

Drawn  by  Thomas  Moran.        Engraved  by  Henry  Bogert. 

Marmion 177 

Draivn  by  C.  S.  Reinhart.        Engraved  by  J.  O.  Smithivick. 

The  Quack 240 

Drawn  by  Howard  Pyle.        Engraved  by  J.  P.  Davis. 

Diamond  Cut  Diamond ....     272 

Drawn  by  Alfred  Kappas.       Engraved  by  Timothy  Cole. 

The  Glove  and  the  Lions 321 

Drawn  by  H.  P.  Farny.       Engraved  by  Smithivick  &  French. 

Hebculaneum 401 

Drawn  by  Charles  D.  Sauerwein.     Engraved  by  Francis  S.  King. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  subject  of  Elocution,  so  far  as  it  is  deemed  appli- 
cable to  a  work  of  this  kind,  will  be  considered  under  the 
following  heads,  viz: 


1.  Articulation. 

2.  Inflection. 

3.  Accent  and  Emphasis. 


4.  Reading  Verse. 

5.  The  Voice. 

6.  Gesture. 


I.  ARTICULATION 


Articulation  is  the  utterance  of  the  elementary  sounds 
of  a  language,  and  of  their  combinations. 

As  words  consist  of  one  or  more  elementary  sounds,  the 

first  object  of  the  student  should  be  to  acquire  the  power 

of  uttering   those   sounds   with   dldinctness,    smoothness,    and 

force.     This  result  can  be  secured  only  by  careful  practice, 

which  must  be  persevered  in  until  the  learner  has  acquired 

a  perfect  control  of  his  organs  of  speech. 

(11) 


12  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


ELEMENTARY    SOUNDS. 

An  Elementary  Sound  is  a  simple,  distinct  sound  made 
by  the  organs  of  speech. 

The  Elementary  Sounds  of  the  English  language  are 
divided   into    Vocals,  Subvocals,  and  Aspirates. 

VOCALS. 

Vocals  are  sounds  which  consist  of  pure  tone  only. 
They  are  the  most  prominent  elements  of  aU  words,  and 
it  is  proper  that  they  should  first  receive  attention.  A 
vocal  may  be  represented  by  one  letter,  as  in  the  word 
hat,  or  by  two  or  more  letters,  as  in  heat,  beaviy.  A 
diphthong  is  a  union  of  two  vocals,  commencing  with  one 
and  ending  with  the  other.  It  is  usually  represented  by 
two  letters,   as   in  the  words  oil,  boy,  out,  now. 

Each  of  these  can  be  uttered  with  great  force,  so  as  to 
give  a  distinct  expression  of  its  sound,  although  the  voice 
be  suddenly  suspended,  the  moment  the  sound  is  produced. 
This  is  done  by  putting  the  lips,  teeth,  tongue,  and  palate 
in  their  proper  position,  and  then  expelling  each  sound  from 
the  throat  in  the  same  manner  that  the  syllable  "  ah !  " 
is  uttered  in  endeavoring  to  deter  a  child  from  something 
it  is  about  to  do;    thus,  a' — a' — a' — . 

Let  the  pupil  be  required  to  utter  every  one  of  the  ele- 
ments in  the  Table  with  all  possible  suddenness  and  percus- 
sive force,  until  he  is  able  to  do  it  with  ease  and  accuracy. 
This  must  not  be  considered  as  accomplished  until  he  can 
give  each  sound  with  entire  clearness,  and  with  all  the 
suddenness  of  the  "crack"  of  a  rifle.  Care  must  be  taken 
that  the  vocal  alone  be  heard;  there  must  be  no  consonantal 
sound,  and  no  vocal  sound  other  than  the  one  intended. 

At  first,  the  elementary  sounds  may  be  repeated  by  the 
class  in  concert;    then  separately. 


SIXTH  READER.  13 


Table  of  Vocals. 

Long   Sounds. 

a, 

as  in 

hate. 

e,  as  in 

eve. 

a, 

" 

hare. 

e,      " 

err. 

a, 

" 

pass. 

i,       " 

pine. 

a, 

" 

far. 

o,      " 

no. 

a, 

" 

fall. 

oo,     " 

cool. 

u,  as  in  tube. 

Short   Sounds. 

a, 

as  in 

mat. 

6,  as  in 

hot. 

e, 

" 

met. 

do,     " 

book 

1, 

<i 

it. 

u,      " 

us. 

Diphthongs. 
oi,  oy,  as  in  oil,  boy.  |  ou,  ow,  as  in  out,  now. 


Remark  I.— In  this  table,  the  short  sounds  are  nearly  or  quite  the 
same,  In  quantity,  as  the  long  sounds.  The  difference  consists  chiefly 
in  quulity.    Let  the  pupil  determine  this  fact  by  experiment. 

Remar"k  II. — The  vocals  are  often  represented  by  other  letters  or 
combinations  of  letters  than  those  used  in  the  table:  for  instance,  S.  is 
represented  by  ai  in  hail,  by  ea  in  steak,  etc. 

Remark  III. — As  a  general  rule,  the  long  vocals  and  the  diphthongs 
should  be  articulated  with  a  full,  clear  utterance;  but  the  .short  vocals 
have  a  sharp,  distinct,  and  almost  explosive  utterance.  Weakness  of 
speech  follows  a  failure  to  observe  the  first  point,  while  drawling  re- 
sults from  carelessness  with  respect  to  the  second. 


SUBVOCALS    AND  ASPIRATES. 

Subvocals  are  those  sounds  in  which  the  vocalized  breath 
is  more  or  less  obstructed. 

Aspirates  consist  of  breath  only,  modified  by  the  vocal 
organs. 

Words  ending  with  subvocal  sounds  should  be  selected 
for  practice  on  the  subvocals ;  words  beginning  or  ending 
with  aspirate  sounds  may  be  used  for  practice  on  the 
aspirates.      Pronounce   these  words   forcibly  and   distinctly, 


14 


ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


several  times  in  succession;  then  drop  the  other  sounds, 
and  repeat  the  subvocals  and  aspirates  alone.  Let  the 
class  repeat  the  words  and  elements,  at  first,  in  concert; 
then   separately. 

Table  of  Subvocals  and  Aspirates. 


Subvocals. 

Asph 

ales. 

b,  as  in  babe. 

P. 

as  in 

rap. 

d,      "      bad. 

t, 

at. 

g>      "      nag. 

k, 

bd6k. 

j,       "      judge. 

ch, 

rich. 

V,      "      move. 

f, 

life. 

th,    "      with. 

th, 

smith 

z,       "      buzz. 

Si 

biss. 

z,       "      azure  (azh-). 

sh, 

rush. 

w,      "      wine. 

wh 

J    " 

what. 

Remark. — These  eighteen  sounds  make  nine  pairs  of  cognates.  In 
articulating  the  aspirates,  the  vocal  organs  are  put  in  the  position 
required  in  the  articulation  of  the  corresponding  subvocals;  but  the 
breath  is  expelled  with  some  force,  without  the  utterance  of  any  vocal 
sound.  The  pupil  should  first  verify  this  by  experiment,  and  then 
practice  on  these  cognates. 

The  following  subvocals  and  aspirate  have  no  cognates: 


Subvocals. 


1,  as  in  mill, 
m,  "  rim. 
n,      "      run. 


ng,  as  in  sing, 
r,         "       rule. 

y,      "     yet. 


Aspirate. 
h,    as    in    hat. 


SUBSTITUTES. 


Substitutes  are  characters  used  to  represent  sounds  ordi- 
narily represented  by  other  characters. 


SIXTH  READER. 


15 


Table  of  SiTBSTiTtrTKS. 


a  for  6,  as  in  what. 


e    ' 

'     a, 

'      there. 

e    ' 

'     ^,       ' 

'       freight 

i     ' 

'     e,      ' 

'      poh'9e. 

1     ' 

'     §1       ' 

'      sir. 

6    ' 

'     u,      ' 

'      son. 

o    ' 

'     oo,     ' 

'      to. 

o     ' 

'     do,    ' 

'       would. 

6    ' 

'     (Vi       ' 

'      corn. 

o    ' 

'     e,       ' 

worm. 

u    ' 

'     do,    ' 

'      pull. 

u    ' 

'     e,       ' 

'      urge. 

u    ' 

'     oo, 

"      riide. 

y  ' 

'     I 

"      my. 

y  for  i,   as  in  hymn. 


9    " 

s,       " 

9ite. 

e    " 

k,      " 

cap. 

9h" 

sh,     " 

machine. 

eh  " 

k,     " 

chord. 

g    " 

J.       " 

eage. 

n    " 

ng,    " 

rink. 

§     " 

z,       ■ 

ro§e. 

s     " 

sh      ' 

sugar. 

?    " 

gz,     " 

examine 

gh," 

f,    " 

laugh. 

ph" 

f,     ' 

sylph. 

qu  " 

k     ' 

pique. 

qu" 

kw,  ' 

quick. 

FAULTS  TO  BE  REMEDIED. 

The  most  common  faults  of  articulation  are  dropping 
an  tmaccented  vowel,  sounding  incorrectly  an  unaccented 
vowel,  suppressing  final  consonants,  omitting  or  mispro- 
nouncing  syllables,    and   blending  words. 

1.  Dropping   an   unaccented   vocal. 


EXAMPLES. 

CORRECT. 

INCORRECT. 

CORRECT. 

INCORRECT. 

Gran^a-ry 

gran'ry 

a-ban'don 

a-ban-d'n. 

im-mor^tal 

im-mor-t'l. 

reg'u-lar 

reg'lar. 

in-clem^ent 

in-clem'nt. 

par-tic^u-lar 

par-tic'lar. 

des^ti-ny 

des-t'ny. 

cal-cu-la^tion 

cal-cra-sh'n 

un-cer^tain 

un-cer-t'n. 

oc-ca^sion 

oc-ca-sh'n. 

em^i-nent 

em'nent. 

eFfi-gy 

ef'gy- 

ag'o-ny 

ag'ny. 

man^i-fold 

man'fold. 

rev''er-ent 

rev'rent. 

cuFti-vate 

cult'vate. 

16  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

2.  Sounding  incorrectly  an  unaccented  vowel. 


EXAMPIiES. 


CORRECT. 

Lam-en-ta'-tion 

e-ter^nal 

oVsti-nate 

e-vent^ 

effort 


INCORRECT. 

lam-wn-ta-tion 

e-ter-nwl. 

ob-st?m-it. 

Mv-ent. 

wf-fort. 


CORRECT. 

ter^ri-ble 

fel-o'iiy 

feFlow-ship 

caFcu-late 

reg^u-lar 


INCORRECT. 

ter-rwb-ble. 

fel-er-ny. 

fel-ler-ship. 

cal-ker-late. 

reg-gy-lwr. 


EXERCISES. 

The   vocals    most    likely   to    be    dropped    or   incorrectly 
sounded    are   itaKcized. 

He  attended  de'vine  serv/ce  regularly. 

This  is  my  particular  request. 

She  2S  universally  esteemed. 

George  is  sensible  of  his  fault. 

This  calcMlation  is  incorrect. 

What  a  terrible  calamity. 

His  eye  through  vast  immensity  can  pierce. 

Observe  these  nice  dependencies. 

He  is  a  formidable  adversary. 

He  is  generous  to  his  friends. 

A  tempest  desolated  the  land. 

He  preferred  death  to  servitude. 

God  is  the  author  of  all  things  visible  and  invisible. 

3.  Suppressing   the   final   subvocals   or   aspirates. 


EXAMPLES. 

John  an'  James  are  frien's  o'  my  father. 

Gi'  me  some  bread. 

The  want  o'  men  is  occasioned  by  the  want  o'  money. 

We  seldom  fine'  men  o'  principle  to  ac'  thus. 

Beas'  an'  creepin'  things  were  foun'  there. 


SIXTH  READER. 


17 


EXERCISES 

He  learnec?  to  write. 

The  maste  of  the  ship  were  cas<  down. 

He  entered  the  \\&ts  at  the  head  of  his  troops. 

He  is  the  merriest  fellow  in  existence. 

I  regard  not  the  worh/'s  opinion. 

He  has  three  assistant. 

The  depZAs  of  the  sea. 

She  trusts  too  much  to  servants. 

His  attempt  were  fruitless. 

He  chancec/  to  see  a  bee  hoverin^^  over  a  flower. 

4.  Omitting  or   mispronouncing  whole   syllables. 

EXAMPLES. 


Lit''er-a-ry  is   improperly  pronounced  lit-rer-ry. 


co-tem^po-ra-ry 

het-er-o-ge^ne-ous 

in-quis-i-to^ri-al 

mis^er-a-ble 

ac-com^pa-ni-ment 


co-tem-po-ry. 

het-ro-ge-nous. 

in-quis-i-to-ral. 

mis-rer-ble. 

ac-comp-ner-ment. 


EXERCISES. 

He  devoted  his  attention  chiefly  to  literary  pursuits. 

He  is  a  miserable  creature. 

His  faults  were  owing  to  the  degeneracy  of  the  times. 

The  manuscript  was  undecipherable. 

His  spirit  was  unconquerable. 

Great  industry  was  necessary  for  the  performance  of  the  task. 

5.  Blending   the   end    of  one    word    with    the    beginning 
of  the   next. 

EXAMPLES. 


I  court  thy  gif  sno  more. 
The  grove  swere  God  sfir  stemples. 
(6.-2.) 


18  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

My  hear  fwas  a  mirror,  that  show'  rfevery  treasure. 
It  reflecte  rfeach  beautiful  blosso  mof  pleasure. 
Han  c?'me  the  slate. 
This  worl  c^is  all  a  fleeting  show, 
For  man'  sillusion  given. 

EXERCISES. 

The  magistrates  ought  to  arrest  the  rogues  speedily. 

The  whirlwinds  sweep  the  plain. 

lAxiked  to  thy  side,  through  every  chance  I  go. 

But  hac^  he  seen  a?i  actor  in  our  days  enacting  Shakespeare. 

Wha<  awful  sounds  assail  my  ears  ? 

We  cdMght  a  glimpse  of  her. 

Old  age  has  on  their  tempks  shed  her  silver  frost. 

Our  eagle  shall  rise  mid  the  whirlwinds  of  war, 

And  dart  through  the  dun  clouo?  of  battle  his  eye. 
Then  honor  shall  weave  of  the  laurel  a  crown, 

That  beauty  shall  hmd  on  the  brow  of  the  brave. 


n.    INFLECTIOK 


Inflection  is  a  bending  or  sliding  of  the  voice  either 
upward   or   downward. 

The  upward  or  rising  inflection  is  an  upward  slide  of 
the  voice,  and  is  marked  by  the  acute  accent,  thus,  ('); 
as. 

Did  you  call'?     Is  he  sick'? 

The  downward  or  falling  inflection  is  a  downward  slide 
of  the  voice,  and  is  marked  by  the  grave  accent,  thus,  (^); 
as. 

Where  is  London^?     Where  have  you  been^? 


SIXTH  READER. 


19 


Sometimes  both  the  rising  and  falling  inflections  are  given 
to  the  same  sound.  Such  sounds  are  designated  by  the 
circumflex,  thus,  (^)  or  thus,  (a).  The  former  is  called 
the  rising  circumflex ;  the  latter,  the  falling  circumflex ;  as, 

But  nobody  can  bear  the  death  of  Clodius. 


When  several  successive  syllables  are  uttered  without 
either  the  upward  or  doAvnward  sHde,  they  are  said  to  be 
uttered  in  a  monotone,  which  is  marked  thus,  ( — )  ;  as, 


Koll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean  —  roll! 


EXAMPIiES. 


Does  he  read  correctly^  or  incorrectly^  ? 

In  reading  this  sentence,  the  voice    should   slide  somewhat 
as  represented  in  the  following  diagram : 


Does  he  read  cor-  "^ 


^^-ly? 


If  you  said  vinegar,  I  said  sugar. 
To  be  read  thus : 


If  you  said 


I  said  5- 


If  you  said  yes,  I  said  no. 
To  be  read  thus: 


What^ !  did  he  say  no'  ? 
To  be  read  thus: 


-\j^\vat^ 


did  he  say 


tvo' 


20 


ECLECTIC  SERIES, 


He  did\  he  said  no\ 
To  be  read  thus: 

He  -^;   he  said<^. 

Did  he  do  it  voluntarily^  or  involuntarily^? 
To  be  read  thus: 


;x\i>-^f'( 


Did  he  do  it     ^ 


He  did  it  voluntarily\  not  involuntarily'. 
To  be  read  thus : 


He  did  it 


EXERCISES. 

Do  they  act  prudently'',  or  imprudently^? 

Are  they  at  home^  or  abroad^? 

Did  you  say  Europe',  or  Asia^  ? 

Is  he  rich',  or  poor^? 

He  said  pain\  not  pain'. 

Are  you  engaged',  or  at  leisure^? 

Shall  I  say  plain',  or  pain^? 

He  went  home\  not  abroad'. 

Does  he  say  able',  or  table^? 

He  said  hazy\  not  lazy'? 

Must  I  say  flat',  or  flat^? 

You  should  say  flat\  not  flat'. 

My  father',  must  I  stay'? 

Oh!  but  he  paused  upon  the  brink. 

It  shall  go  hard  with  me,  but  I  shall  use  the  weapon. 

Heard  ye  those  loud  contending  waves. 

That  shook  Cecropia's  pillar'd  state'? 
Saw  ye  the  mighty  from  their  graves 

Look  up',  and  tremble  at  your  fate'? 


SIXTH  READER.  21 

First'  Fear\  his  hand,  its  skill  to  try', 

Amid  the  chords  bewildered  laid^ ; 
And  back  recoiled\  he  knew  not  why',' 

E'en  at  the  sound  himself  had  made\ 

Where  be  your  gibes^  now  ?  your  gambols^  ?  your  songs^  ? 
your  flashes  of  merriment,  that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on 
a  roar^  ? 


Thus  saith  the  high  and  lofty  One  that  inhabiteth  eter- 
nity, whose  name  is  Holy;  "I  dwell  in  the  high  and  holy 
place." 


FALLING   INFLECTION. 

Rule  I. — Sentences,  and  parts  of  sentences  which  make 
complete  sense  in  themselves,  require  the  falling  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  By  virtue  we  secure  happiness^. 

2.  For  thou  hast  said  in  thine  heart,  I  will  ascend  into 
heaven^:  I  will  exalt  my  throne  above  the  stars  of  God^: 
I  will  sit,  also,  upon  the  mount  of  the  congregation,  in  the 
sides   of  the    north\ 

3.  The  wind  and  the  rain  are  over^ ;  calm  is  the  noon 
of  the  day^ :  the  clouds  are  divided  in  heaven^ ;  over  the 
green  hills  flies  the  inconstant  sun\  red  through  the  stormy 
vale  comes  down  the  stream\ 

4.  This  proposition  was,  however,  rejected,^  and  not  merely 
rejected,  but  rejected  with  insultV 

Exception.— Emphasis  sometimes  reverses  this  rule,  and  requires  the 
rising  inflection,  apparentlj'  for  the  purpose  of  calling  attention  to  the 
idea  of  an  unusual  manner  of  expressing  it. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  I  should  not  like  to  ride  in  that  car'. 

2.  Look  out!     A  man  was  drowned  there  yesterday'. 

3.  Presumptuous  man !    the  gods^  take  care  of  Cato'. 


22  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Rule  II. — The  language  of  emphasis  generally  requires 
the  falling  injiedion. 

EXAMPIiES. 

1.  Charge^,  Chester,  charge^;  on\  Stanlej',  on\ 

2.  Were  I  an  American,  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  while 
a  single^  foreign  troop^  remained^  in  my  country,  I  would 
never^   lay  down  my  arms — never\  never\  never.^ 

3.  Does  any  one  suppose  that  the  payment  of  twenty  shil- 
lings, would  have  ruined  Mr.  Hampden's  fortune?  No\  But 
the  payment  of  half^  twenty  shillings,  on  the  principle^  it 
was   demanded,   would   have   made   him  a  slave^. 

4.  I  insist^  upon  this  point^:  I  urge^  you  to  it;  I  press^ 
it,    demand^   it. 

5.  All  that  I  have\  all  that  I  am\  and  all  that  I  hope^ 
in  this  life,  I   am   now  ready^,  here^,  to  stake^   upon  it. 

Rule  III. — Interrogative  sentences  and  members  of  sen- 
tences, which  can  not  be  answered  by  yes  or  tw,  generally 
require  the  falling  inflection. 

KXAMPLES. 

1.  How  many  books  did  he  purchase^? 

2.  Why  reason  ye  these  things  in  your  hearts^? 

3.  What  see^  you,  that  you  frown  so  heavily  to-day^? 

4.  Ah!  what  is  that  flame  which  now  bursts  on  his  eye^? 

5.  Whence  this  pleasing  hope\  this  fond  desire\ 
This  longing  after  immortality^? 

Exception.— When  questions  usually  requiring  the  falling  inflection 
are  emphatic  or  repeated,  tliey  take  the  rising  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Where  did  you  say  he  had  gone'? 

2.  To  whom  did  you  say  the  blame  was  to  be  imputed'? 

3.  What  is^  he?     A  knave.     What'  is  he?     A  knave,  I  say. 


SIXTH  READER.  23 


RISING    INFLECTION. 

Rule  IV. — The  rising  infieciion  is  generally  used  where 
the  sense  is  dependent  or  incomplete. 

Remark.— This  inflectiou  is  generally  very  slight,  requiring  an  acute 
and  educated  ear  to  discern  it,  and  it  is  difficult  to  teach  pupils  to  dis- 
tinguish it,  though  they  constantly  use  it.  Care  should  be  taken  not  to 
exaggerate  it. 

EXAMPI,ES. 

1.  Nature  being  exhausted^,  he  quietly  resigned  himself 
to    his   fate. 

2  A  chieftain  to  the  Highlands  bound', 
Cries',  "  Boatman,  do  not  tarry  !  " 

3.  As  he  spoke  without  fear  of  consequences',  so  his  actions 
were  marked  with  the  most  unbending  resolution. 

4.  Speaking  in  the  open  air',  at  the  top  of  the  voice',  is 
an  admirable   exercise. 

5.  If  then,  his  Providence',  out  of  our  evil,  seek  to  bring 
forth   good',    our   labor  must   be   to  prevent  that   end. 

6.  He',  born  for  the  universe',  narrowed  his  mind. 
And  to  party  gave  up  what  was  meant  for  mankind. 

Remark. — The  names  of  persons  or  things  addressed,  when  not  used 
emphatically,  are  included  in  this  rule. 

7.  Brother',  give  me  thy  hand;  and,  gentle  Warwick', 
Let  me  embrace  thee  in  my  weary  arms. 

8.  0  Lancaster',  I  fear  thy  overthrow. 

9.  Ye  crags'  and  peaks',  I'm  with  you  once  again. 

Exception  1. — Relative  emphasis  often  reverses  this  and  the  first  rule, 
because  emphasis  is  here  expressed  in  part  by  changing  the  usual 
inflections. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  If  you  care  not  for  your  property^,  you  surely  value 
your  life'. 

2.  If  you  will  not  labor  for  your  own^  advancement,  you 
should   regard   that   of  your    children'. 


24  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

3.  It  is  your  place  to  o6ey\  not  to  command''. 

4.  Though  by  that  course  he  should  not  destroy  his  rep- 
utation', he  will  lose  all  self-respect'. 

Exception  2.— The  names  of  persons  addressed  in  a  formal  speech,  or 
when  used  emphatically,  have  the  falling  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers\  hear  me  for  my  cause, 
etc. 

2.  Gentlemen  of  the  jury\  I  solicit  your  attention,  etc. 

3.  O  Hubert\  Hubert\  save  me  from  these  men. 

Rule  V. — Negative  sentences  and  parts  of  sentences, 
usually  require  the  rising  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  It  is  not  by  starts  of  application  that  eminence  can 
be  attained'. 

2.  It  was  not  an  eclipse  that  caused  the  darkness  at  the 
crucifixion  of  our  Lord';  for  the  sun  and  moon  were  not 
relatively   in  a  position^   to   produce  an   eclipse'. 

3.  They  are  not  fighting':  do  not  disturb'  them:  this  man 
is  not  expiring  with  agony':  that  man  is  not  dead':  they 
are  only  pausing'. 

4.  My  Lord,  we  could  not  have  had  such  designs'. 

5.  You  are  not  left  alone  to  climb  the  steep  ascent':  God 
is  with  you,  who  never  suffers  the  spirit  that  rests  on  him 
to  fail. 

Exception  1.— Emphasis  may  reverse  this  rule. 


EXAMPLE. 

We  repeat  it,  we  do  not'^  desire  to  produce  discord;   we  do 
noi'^  wish  to  kindle  the  flames  of  %  civil  war. 

Exception  2.— General  propositions  and  commands  usually  have  the 
falling  inflection. 


SIXTH  READER.  25 

EXAMPLES. 

God  is  not  the  author  of  sin\     Thou  shalt  not  kill\ 

Rule  VI. — ^Interrogative  sentences,  and  members  of  sen- 
tences which  can  be  answered  by  yes  or  no,  generally  re- 
quire the  rising  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Are  fleets  and  armies  necessary  to  a  work  of  love  and 
reconciliation^  ? 

2.  Does  the  gentleman  suppose  it  is  in  his  power^,  to  exhibit 
in  Carolina  a  name  so  briglit'  as  to  produce  envy^  in  my 
bosom  ? 

3.  If  it  be  admitted,  that  strict  integrity  is  not  the  shortest 
way  to  success,  is  it  not  the  surest',  the  happiest',  the  best'? 

4.  Is  there  not  rain  enough  in  the  sweet  heavens, 
To  wash  this  crimson  hand  as  white  as  snow'? 

Exception, — Emphasis  may  revei'se  this  rule. 
EXAMPLES. 

1.  Qan^  you  be  so  blind  to  your  interest?  Will^  you  rush 
headlong  to  destruction  ? 

2.  I  ask  again,  tV  tliere  no  hope  of  reconciliation?  MusC' 
we  abandon  all  our  fond  anticipations? 

3.  Will  you  deny'  it?     Will  you  deny'^  it? 

4.  Am  I  Dromio'?     Am  I  your  man'?     Am  I  myself^  f 

Rule  VII. — Interrogative  exclamations,  and  words  re- 
peated as  a  kind  of  echo  to  the  thought,  require  the 
rising  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Where  grows',  where  grows  it  not'? 

2.  What' !     Might    Rome    have   been  taken'  ?     Rome  taken 

when  I  was  consul'? 
6.-3. 


26  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

3.  Banished  from  Eome^!     Tried  and  convicted  traitor^! 

4.  Prince  Henry.  What's  the  matter''  ? 

Falstaff.  What's  the  matter^?     Here  be  four  of  us  have 
taken  a  thousand  pounds  this  morning. 

Prince  H.  Where  is^  it,  Jack,  where  is^  it? 
Fal  Where  is^  it?     Taken  from  us,  it  is. 

5.  Ha^l  laughest  thou,  Lochiel,  my  vision  to  scorn? 

6.  And  this  man  is  called  a  statesman.  A  statesman'? 
Why,  he  never  invented  a  decent  humbug. 

7.  I  can  not  say,  sir,  which  of  these  motives  influence  the 
advocates  of  the  bill  before  us;  a  bill',  in  which  such  cruel- 
ties are  proposed  as  are  yet  unknown  among  the  most  savage 
nations. 


RISING    AND    FALLING    INFLECTIONS. 

Rule  VIII. — Words  and  members  of  a  sentence  express- 
ing antithesis  or  contrast,  require  opposite  inflections. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  By  honor'  and  dishonor^;  by  evil'  report  and  good^  re- 
port; as  deceivers'  and  yet  true^. 

2.  What  they  know  by  reading',  I  know  by  experience^. 

3.  I  could  honor  thy  courage',  but  I  detest  thy  crimes'^. 

4.  It  is  easier  to  forgive  the  weak\  who  have  injured  us', 
than  the  powerful'  whom  we^  have  injured. 

5.  Homer  was  the  greater  genius',  Virgil    the  better  artist\ 

6.  The  style  of  Dryden  is  capricious  and  varied';  that  of 
Pope  is  cautious  and  uniform\  Dryden  obeys  the  emotions 
of  his  own  mind';  Pope  constrains  his  mind  to  his  own  rules 
of  composition.^  Dryden  is  sometimes  vehement  and  rapid'; 
Pope  is  always  smooth,  uniform,  and  gentle\  Dryden's  page 
is  a  natural  field,  rising  into  inequalities,  varied  by  exuberant 
vegetation';  Pope's  is  a  velvet  lawn,  shaven  by  the  scythe  and 
leveled  by  the  roller^. 


SIXTH  READER.  27 

7.  If  the  flights  of  Dryden  are  higher',  Pope  continues 
longer  on  the  wing^.  If  the  blaze  of  Dryden's  fire  is  brighter'', 
the  heat  of  Pope's  is  more  regular  and  constant\  Dryden 
often  surpasses'  expectation,  and  Pope  never  falls  below^  it. 

Remark  1.— Words  and  members  connected  by  or  "ufsed  disjunctively, 
generally  express  contrast  or  antithesis,  and  always  receive  opposite  in- 
flections. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Shall  we  advance',  or  retreat^? 

2.  Do  you  seek  wealth',  or  power^  ? 

3.  Is  the  great  chain  upheld  by  God',  or  thee^? 

4.  Shall  we  return  to  our  allegiance  while  we  may  do  so 
with  safety  and  honor',  or  shall  we  wait  until  the  ax  of  the 
executioner  is  at  our  throats^  ? 

5.  Shall  we  crown'  the  author  of  these  public  calamities 
with  garlands',  or  shall  we  wrest^  from  him  his  ill-deserved 
authority^  ? 

Remark  2. — When  the  antithesis  is  between  affirmation  and  nega- 
tion, the  latter  usually  has  the  rising  inflection,  according  to  Rule  V. 


EXAMPLES. 

1.  You  were  paid  to  fighf*  against  Philip,  not  to  rail'  at  him. 

2.  I  said  rationally\  not  irrationally'. 

3.  I  did  not  say  rationally',  but  irrationally^. 

4.  I  said  an  elder^  soldier,  not  a  better'. 

5.  Let  us  retract  while  we  can^,  not  when  we  must'. 

Remark  3.— The  more  emphatic  member  gena-aUy  receives  the  fall- 
ing inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  A  countenance  more  in  sorrow^,  than  anger'. 

2.  A  countenance  less  in  anger',  than    sorrow^. 

3.  You  should  show  your  courage  by  deeds\  rather  than  by 
words'. 

4.  If  we  can  not  remove^  pain,  we  may  alleviate'  it. 


28  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

OF  SERIES. 

A  series  is  a  number  of  particulars  immediately  follow- 
ing one  another  in  the  same  grammatical  construction. 

A  commencing  series  is  one  which  commences  a  sentence 
or  clause. 

EXAMPLE. 

Faith,  hope,  love,  joy,  are  the  fruits  of  the  spirit. 

A  concluding  series  is  one  which  concludes  a  sentence  or 
a  clause. 

EXAMPLE. 

The  fruits  of  the  spirit  are  faith,  hope,  love,  and  joy. 

Rule  IX. — All  the  members  of  a  commencing  series, 
when  not  emphatic,  usually  require  the  rising  injiection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  War',  famine',  pestilence',  storm',  and  fire'  besiege  man- 
kind. 

2.  The  knowledge',  the  power',  the  wisdom',  the  goodness' 
of  God,  must  all  be  unbounded. 

3.  To  advise  the  ignorant',  to  relieve  the  needy',  and  to 
comfort  the  afflicted'  are  the  duties  that  fall  in  our  way 
almost  every  day  of  our  lives. 

4.  No  state  chicanery',  no  narrow  system  of  vicious  polities', 
no  idle  contest  for  ministerial  victories',  sank  him  to  the 
vulgar  level  of  the  great. 

5.  For  solidity  of  reasoning',  force  of  sagacity',  and  wisdom 
of  conclusion',  no  nation  or  body  of  men  can  compare  with 
the  Congress  at  Philadelphia. 

6.  The  wise  and  the  foolish',  the  virtuous  and  the  evil',  the 
learned  and  the  ignorant',  the  temperate  and  the  profligate', 
must  often  be  blended  together. 


SIXTH  READER.  29 

7.  Absalom's  beauty^,  Jonathan's  love^,  David's  valor^,  Solo- 
mon's wisdom^,  the  patience  of  JoV,  the  prudence  of  Augustus'', 
and  the  eloquence  of  Cicero'  are  found  in  perfection  in  the 
Creator. 

Remark.— Some  elocutionists  prefer  to  give  the  falling  inflection  to 
tlie  Uist  member  of  a  commencing  series. 

Exception.— In  a  commencing  series,  forming  a  climax,  the  last  term 
usually  requires  the  falling  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Days',  months',  years',  and  ages^,  shall  circle  away. 
And  still  the  vast  waters  above  thee  shall  roll. 

2.  Property',  character',  reputation',  every  thing^,  was  sacri- 
ficed. 

3.  Toils',  sufferings',  wounds',  and  death^  was  the  price  of 
our  liberty. 

Rule  X. — All  the  members  of  a  concluding  series,  when 
not  at  all  emphatic,  usually  require  the  falling  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  It  is  our  duty  to  pity\  to  support\  to  defend^,  and  to 
relieve^  the  oppressed. 

2.  At  the  sacred  call  of  country,  they  sacrifice  property^, 
ease\  health^,  applause^,  and  even  life^. 

3.  I  protest  against  this  measure  as  cruel^,  oppressive^,  tyr- 
annous^, and  vindictive^. 

4.  God  was  manifest  in  the  flesh^,  justified  in  the  Spirit^, 
seen  of  angels\  preached  unto  the  Gentiles\  believed  on  in 
the  workr,  received  up  into  glory ^. 

5.  Charity  vaunteth  not  itself\  is  not  puffed  up^,  doth  not 
behave  itself  unseemly\  seeketh  not  her  own\  is  not  easily 
provoked\  thinketh  no  evil\  beareth^  all  things,  believeth^  all 
things,  hopeth^  all  things,  endureth^  all  things. 

Remark. —  Some  authors  give  the  following  rule  for  the  reading  of  a 
concluding  series :  "  All  the  particulars  of  a  concluding  series,  except 
the  last  but  one,  require  the  falling  inflection." 

Exception  1.— When  the  particulars  enumerated  in  a  concluding  series 
are  not  at  all  emphatic,  all  except  the  last  require  the  rising  inflection. 


30  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


He  was   esteemed   for   his   kindness^,   his   intelligence'',   his 
self-deniaF,  and  his  active  benevolence\ 

Exception  2.— When  all  the  terms  of  a  concluding  series  are  strongly 
empliatic,  they  all  receive  the  falling  inflection.  • 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  They  saw  not  one  man\  not  one  woman\  not  one  child\ 
not  one  four-footed  beast\ 

2.  His  hopes\  his  happiness\  his  life\  hung  upon  the  words 
that  fell  from  those  lips. 

3.  They  fought\  they  bled\  they  died\  for  freedom. 


PAEENTHESIS. 


Rule  XI. — A  parenthesis  should  be  read  more  rapidly 
and  in  a  lower  key  than  the  rest  of  the  sentence,  and 
should  terminate  with  the  same  inflection  that  next  pre- 
cedes it.  If,  however,  it  is  complicated,  or  emphatic,  or 
disconnected  from  the  main  subject,  the  inflections  must 
be  governed  by  the  same  rules  as  in  the  other  cases. 

Remark.— A  smooth  and  expressive  reading  of  a  parenthesis  is  diffi- 
cnlt  of  acquisition,  and  can  be  secured  only  by  careful  and  persistent 
training. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  God  is  my  witness''  (whom  I  serve  with  my  spirit,  in  the 
gospel  of  his  Son'),  that,  witliout  ceasing,  I  make  mention  of 
you  always  in  my  prayers;  making  request''  (if,  by  any  means, 
now  at  lenght,  I  might  have  a  prosperous  journey  by  the  will 
of  God'),  to  come  unto  you. 


SIXTH  READER.  31 

2.  When  he  had  entered  the  room  three  paces,  he  stood 
still;  and  laying  his  left  hand  upon  his  breast'  (a  slender, 
white  staff  with  which  he  journeyed  being  in  his  right'),  he 
introduced  himself  with  a  little  story  of  his  convent. 

3.  If  you,  ^schines,  in  particular,  were  persuaded'  (and  it 
was  no  particular  affection  for  me,  that  prompted  you  to  give 
up  the  hopes,  the  appliances,  the  honors,  which  attended  the 
course  I  then  advised;  but  the  superior  force  of  truth,  and 
your  utter  inability  to  point  any  course  more  eligible^)  if  this 
was  the  case,  I  say,  is  it  not  highly  cruel  and  unjust  to 
arraign  these  measures  now,  when  you  could  not  then  pro- 
pose a  better? 

4.  As  the  hour  of  conflict  drew  near'  (and  this  was  a  con- 
flict to  be  dreaded  even  by  him^),  he  began  to  waver,  and  to 
abate  much  of  his  boasting. 


CIRCUMFLEX. 


Rule  XII. — The  drcumjiex  is  used  to  express  irony, 
sarcasm,  hypothesis,  or  contrast. 

Note. —  For  the  reason  that  the  circumflex  always  suggests  a  double 
or  doubtful  meaning,  It  is  appropriate  for  the  purposes  expressed  in  the 
rule.  It  is,  also,  frequently  used  in  sportive  language;  jokes  and  puns 
are  commonly  given  with  this  inflection. 


EXAMPLES. 

1.  Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be,  blest. 

2.  They  follow  an  adventurer  whom  they  fear;  we  serve  a 
monarch  whom  we  love.  They  boast,  they  come  but  to  im- 
prove our  state,  enlarge  our  thoughts,  and  free  us  from  the 
yoke  of  error.  Yes,  they  will  give  enlightened  freedom  to 
our  minds,  who  are  themselves  the  slaves  of  passion,  avarice, 
and  pride.  They  offer  us  their  protection:  yes,  siich  protection 
as  viiltures  give  to  lambs,  covering  and  devouring  them. 


32  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


MONOTONE. 

Rule  XIII. — The  use  of  the  monotone  is  confined  chiefly 
to  grave  and  solemn  subjects.  When  carefully  and  prop- 
erly employed,  it  gives  great  dignity  to  delivery. 

EXAMPLES. 


1.    The  unbeliever!    one  who   can   gaze   upon   the  sun,  and 


moon,  and  stars,  and  upon  the  unfading  and  imperishable 
sky,  spread  out  so  magnificently  above  him,  and  say,  "All 
this  is  the  work  of  chance  1 " 


2.    God  walketh  upon  the  ocean.     Brilliantly 
The  glassy  waters  mirror  back  his  smiles; 


The  surging  billows,  and  the  gamboling  storms 
Come  crouching  to  his  feet. 


3.    I  hail  thee,  as  in  gorgeous  robes, 


Blooming  thou  leav'st  the  chambers  of  the  east, 


Crowned  with  a  gemmed  tiara  thick  embossed 
With  studs  of  living  light. 


4.    High  on  a  throne  of  royal  state,  which  far 
Outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormus  and  of  Ind, 


Or  where  the  gorgeous  east,  with  richest  hand, 


Showers  on  her  kings  barbaric  pearls  and  gold, 
Satan  exalted  sat. 


5.    His  broad  expanded  wings 

Lay  calm  and  motionless  upon  the  air. 
As  if  he  floated  there  without  their  aid, 
By  the  sole  act  of  his  unlorded  will. 


0.    In  dim  eclipse,  disastrous  twilight  sheds 


On  lialf  the  nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs. 


I 


SIXTH  READER.  33 

m.  ACCENT  AND  EMPHASIS. 

ACCENT. 

That  syllable  in  a  word  which  is  uttered  more  forcibly 
than  the  others,  is  said  to  be  accented,  and  is  marked  thus, 
(');  as  the  italicized  syllables  in  the  following  words: 

morn'mg.  ^05^si-ble. 

^j/rant.  re-cwm^bent. 

-pvo-cure'.  ex-o?-^i-tant. 

de-bate',  coni-jDre-Zfe^/sive. 

Common  usage  ahne  determines  upon  what  syllable  the 
accent  should  be  placed,  and  to  the  lexicographer  it  be- 
longs, to  ascertain  and  record  its  decision  on  this  point. 

In  some  few  cases,  we  can  trace  the  reasons  for  common 
usage  in  this  respect.  In  words  which  are  used  as  different 
parts  of  speech,  or  which  have  different  meanings,  the  dis- 
tinction is  sometimes  denoted  by  changing  the  accent. 


sub'ject. 

.£i.m.rxjcsi. 

sub-ject'. 

pres^ent. 

pre-senf. 

ab^sent. 

ab-sent^. 

cem^ent. 

ce-ment.'' 

con'jure. 

con-jure'. 

There  is  another  case,  in  which  Ave  discover  the  reason 
for  changing  the  accent,  and  that  is,  when  it  is  required  by 
emphasis,  as  in  the  following: 


EXAMPLES. 


1.  His   ahiViiy  or   zVability  to   perform   the   act   materially 
varies  the  case. 

2.  This  corrup'iiow  must  put  on  iVcorruption. 


34  ECLECTIC   SERIES. 


SECONDARY     ACCENT. 


In  words  of  more  than  two  syllables,  there  is  often  a 
second  accent  given,  but  more  slight  than  the  jjrincipal 
one,  and  this  is  called  the  secondary  accent;  as,  em'igrate", 
rep"axtee',  where  the  principal  accent  is  marked  ('),  and 
the  secondary,  ( " )  ;  so,  also,  this  accent  is  obvious,  in 
7mv"\ga!\xon.,  co??i"pre/«ew'sion,  'plau"&\hU' \ty,  etc.  The  Avhole 
subject,  however,  properly  belongs  to  dictionaries  and  spell- 
ing-books. 


EMPHASIS. 


Emphasis  consists  in  uttering  a  word  or  phrase  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  give  it  force  and  energy,  and  to  draw  the 
attention  of  the  hearer  particularly  to   the   idea  expressed. 

This  is  most  frequently  accomplished  by  an  increased 
stress  of  voice  laid  upon  the  word  or  phrase.  Sometimes, 
though  more  rarely,  the  same  object  is  effected  by  an  un- 
usual lowering  of  the  voice,  even  to  a  wliisper,  and  not 
unfrequently  by  a  pause  before  the  emphatic  word. 

The  inflections  are  often  made  subsidiary  to  this  object. 
To  give  emphasis  to  a  word,  the  inflection  is  changed  or 
increased  in  force  or  extent.  When  the  rising  inflection  is 
ordinarily  used,  the  word,  when  emphatic,  frequently  takes 
the  falling  inflection ;  and  sometimes,  also,  the  falling  in- 
flection is  clianged  into  the  rising  inflection,  for  the  same 
purpose. 

Emphatic  words  are  often  denoted  by  being  written  in 
italics,  in  small  capitals,  or  in  CAPITALS, 

Much  care  is  necessary  to  train  the  pupil  to  give  clear 
and  expressive  emphasis,  and  at  the  same  time  to  avoid 
an  unpleasant  "jerky"  movement  of  the  voice. 


SIXTH  READER.  35 


ABSOLUTE  EMPHASIS. 

Where  the  emphasis  is  independent  of  any  contrast  or 
comparison  with  other  words  or  ideas,  it  is  called  absolute 
empJiasis. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  We  praise  thee,  O  God ;  we  acknowledge  thee  to  be  the 
Lord. 

2.  Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean  —  roil! 

3.  Arm,  warriors,  arm  I 

4.  You  know  that  you  are  Brutus,  that  speak  this, 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  were  else  your  last. 

5.  Hamlet.  Saw,  who  ? 

Horatio.  The  king,  your  father. 
Hamlet.  The  ki7ig,  my  father? 

6.  Strike — till  the  last  armed  foe  expires; 
Strike — for  your  altars  and  youv  fires; 
Strike — for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires; 

God,  and  your  native  land  I 


\ 


RELATIVE  EMPHASIS. 

Where   there  is   antithesis,   either  expressed   or  implied, 
the  emphasis  is  called  relative. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  We  can  do  nothing  against  the  truth,  but  for  the  truth. 

2.  But  I  am  describing  your  condition,  rather  than  my  own. 

3.  I  fear  not  death,  and  shall  I  then  fear  thee? 

4.  Hunting  men,  and  not  beasts,  shall  be  his  game. 


36  ECLECTIC   SERIES. 

5.  He  is  the  propitiation  for  our  sins ;  and  not  for  ours  only, 
but  for  the  sins  of  the  whole  world. 

6.  It  may  moderate  and  restrain,  but  it  was  not  designed  to 
banish  gladness  from  the  heart  of  man. 

In  the  following  examples,  there  are  tivo  sets  of  antitheses 
in  the  same  sentence. 

7.  To  err  is  human,  to  forgive,  divine. 

8.  John  was  punished;    William,  rewarded. 

9.  Without  were  Jightings,  within  were  fears. 

10.  Business  sweetens  pleasure,  as  labor  sweetens  rest. 

11.  Justice  ajDpropriates  rewards  to  merit,  and  punishments  to 
crime. 

12.  On  the  one  side,  all  was  alacrity  and  courage;  on  the  oi/ter, 
all  was  timidity  and  indecision. 

13.  The  t«i5e  man  is  happy  when  he  gains  his  oivn  approba- 
tion ;  the  fool,  when  he  gains  the  applause  of  others. 

14.  His  care  was  to  polish  the  country  by  art,  as  he  had  ^9?-o- 
tected  it  by  arms. 

In  the  following  examples,  the  relative  emphasis  is  ap- 
plied to  three  sets  of  antithetic  words. 

15.  The  difference  between  a  madman  and  a  fool  is,  that 
the  former  reasons  justly  from  false  data ;  and  the  latter,  errone- 
ously from  just  data. 

16.  He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies, 
She  drew  an  angel  down. 

Sometimes  the  antithesis  is  implied,  as  in  the  following 
instances. 

17.  The  spirit  of  the  white  man's  heaven, 
Forbids  not  thee  to  weep. 

18.  I  shall  enter  on  no  encomiums  upon  Massachusetts. 


SIXTH  READER.  37 


EMPHASIS  AND  ACCENT. 

When  words,  which  are  the  same  in  part  of  their  for- 
mation, are  contrasted,  the  emphasis  is  expressed  by  ac- 
centing the  syllables  in  which  they  differ.  See  Accent, 
page  33. 

EXABIPLES. 

1.  What  is  the  difference  between  probability  and  joo^sibility  ? 

2.  Learn  to  wnlearn  what  you  have  learned  amiss. 

3.  John  attends  re^rularly,  William,  n-regularly. 

4.  There  is  a  great  difference  between  giving  and  /orgiving. 

5.  The  conduct  of  Antoninus  was  characterized  by  justice 
and  humanity;    that  of  Nero,  by  i?!Justice  and  tnhumanity. 

6.  The  conduct  of  the  former  is  deserving  of  approbation, 
while  that  of  the  latter  merits  the  severest  rejarobation. 


EMPHASIS   AND   INFLECTION. 

Emphasis  sometimes  changes  the  inflection  from  the  ris- 
ing to  the  falling,  or  from  the  falling  to  the  rising.  For 
instances  of  the  former  change,  see  Rule  II,  and  Exception 
1  to  Rule  IV.  In  the  first  three  following  examples,  the 
inflection  is  changed  from  the  rising  to  the  falling  inflec- 
tion ;  in  the  last  three,  it  is  changed  from  the  falling  to 
the  rising,  by  the  influence  of  emj)hasis. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  If  we  have  no  regard  for  religion  in  youtli",  we  ought  to 
have  respect  for  it  in  age. 

2.  If  we  have  no  regard  for  our  owti^  character,  we  ought  to 
regard  the  character  of  others. 


38  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

3.  If  content  can  not  remove^  the  disquietudes  of  life,  it  will, 
at  least,  alleviate  them. 

4.  The  sweetest  melody  and  the  most  perfect  harmony  fall 
powerless  upon  the  ear  of  one  who  is  deaf\ 

5.  It  is  useless  to  expatiate  upon  the  beauties  of  nature  to*" 
one  who  is  blind\ 

6.  And  they  that  have  believing  masters,  let  them  not 
despise  them,  because  th-^y  are  brethren^ ;  but  rather  let  them 
do  them  service. 


EMPHATIC   PHRASE. 


When  it  is  desired  to  give  to  a  phrase  great  force  of 
expression,  each  word,  and  even  the  parts  of  a  comjwuud 
word,  are  independently  emphasized. 


EXAMPLES. 

1.  Cassius.  Must  I  endure  all  this? 

Brutus.  All  this ! — Ay, ^— more.     Fret,  till  your  proud — heart 
— break. 

2.  What !  weep  you  when  you  but  behold 

Our  Ceesar's  vesture  wounded  ?     Look  ye  here, 
Here  is  himself,  marred,  as  you  see,  by  traitors. 

3.  There  was  a  time,  my  fellow-citizens,  when  the  Lacedav 
monians  were  sovereign  masters,  both  by  sea  and  by  land; 
while  this  state  had  not  one  ship — no,  not — one — wall. 

4.  Shall  I,  the  conqueror  of  Spain  and  Gaul;  and  not  only 
of  the  Alpine  nations,  but  of  the  Alps  themselves;  shall  I  com- 
pare myself  with  this  half — tear — captain  ? 

5.  You  call  me  misbeliever — cut-throat — dog. 
Hath  a  dog — money  ?     Is  it  possible — 

A  cur  can  lend  three — thousand — ducats  f 


SIXTH  READER.  39 


EMPHATIC    PAUSE. 

A  short  pause  is  often  made  before  or  after,  and  some- 
times both  before  and  after,  an  emphatic  word  or  phrase, 
— thus  very  much  increasing  the  emphatic  expression  of  the 
thought. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  May  one  be  pardoned,  and  retain — the  offense? 
In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world, 
Offense's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by — justice; 
And  oft  'tis  seen,  the  wicked  prize  itself 
Buys  out  the  law:  but  'tis  not  so — above: 
There — is  no  shuffling:  there — the  action  lies 
In  its  true  nature. 

2.  He  woke  to  hear  his  sentries  shi'iek, 

"To  arms!  they  come!  the  Greek!  the  Greek  I 
lie  woke — to  die — midst  flame  and  smoke." 

3.  This — is  no  flattery :   These — are  counselors 
That  feelingly  persuade  me  wliat  I  am. 

4.  And  this — our  life,  exempt  from  public, haunt, 
Finds  tongues — in  trees,  books — in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons — in  stones,  and — good  in  every  thing. 

5.  Heaven  gave  this  Lyre,  and  thus  decreed. 
Be  thou  a  bruised — but  not  a  broken — reed. 


IV.  INSTRUCTIONS  FOB  READING  VERSE. 

INFLECTIONS. 

In  reading  verse,  the  inflections  should  be  nearly  the 
same  as  in  reading  prose ;  the  chief  difference  is,  that  in 
poetry,    the    monotone    and    risiny    inflection    are    more    fre- 


40  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

quently  used  than  in  prose.  The  greatest  difficulty  in 
reading  this  species  of  composition,  consists  in  giving  it 
that  measured  flow  which  distinguishes  it  from  prose,  with- 
out falling   into  a  chantmg  pronunciation. 

If,  at  any  time,  the  reader  is  in  doubt  as  to  the  proper 
inflection,  let  him  reduce  the  passage  to  earnest  conversa- 
tion, and  pronounce  it  in  the  most  familiar  and  prosaic 
manner,  and  thus  he  will  generally  use  the  proper  inflection. 

EXERCISES    IN    rNFXiECTION. 

1.  Meanwhile  the  south  wind  rose,  and  with  black  wings 
Wide  hovering^,  all  the  clouds  together  drove 

From  under  heaven^:  the  hills  to  their  supply^, 
Vapor  and  exhalation  dusk  and  moist 
Sent  up  amain^:  and  now,  the  tliickened  sky 
Like  a  dark  ceiling  stood^:  down  rushed  the  rain 
Impetuous^,  and  continued  till  the  earth 
.  No  more  was  seen^:  the  floating  vessel  swam 
Uplifted^,  and,  secure  with  beaked  prow'', 
Rode  tilting  o'er  the  waves^. 

2.  My  friend^,  adown  life's  valley',  hand  in  hand', 

With  grateful  change  of  grave  and  merry  speech 
Or  song',  ovir  hearts  unlocking  each  to  each', 
We'll  journey  onward  to  the  silent  land\ 
And  when  stern  death  shall  loose  that  loving  band, 
Taking  in  his  cold  hand,  a  hand  of  ours'. 
The  one  shall  strew  the  other's  grave  with  flowers', 
Nor  shall  his  heart  a  moment  be  unmanned\ 
My  friend  and  brother' I  if  thou  goest  first', 

Wilt  thou  no  more  revisit  me  below'? 
Yea,  when  my  heart  seems  happy  causelessly', 

And  swells',  not  dreaming  why',  my  soul   shall   know 
That  thou',  unseen',  art  bending  over  me\ 

3.  Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  earth', 

A  youth,  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown^; 

Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth', 

And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own\ 


SIXTH  READER.  41 

.  Large  was  his  bounty^,  and  his  soul  sincere^, 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send^; 
He  gave  to  misery  (all  he  had)  a  tear\ 

He  gained  from  heaven^  ('t  was  all  he  wished^)  a  friend\ 

,  No  further  seek  his  merits  to  disclose', 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode'^; 

(There  they  alike'  in  trembling  hope  repose',) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father,  and  his  God^. 


ACCENT   AND  EMPHASIS. 

In  reading  verse,  every  syllable  must  have  the  same 
accent,  and  every  Avord  the  same  emphasis  as  in  prose; 
and  whenever  the  melody  or  vmsic  of  the  verse  would 
lead  to  an  incoirect  accent  or  emphasis,  this  must  be 
disregarded. 

If  a  poet  has  made  his  verse  deficient  in  melody,  this 
must  not  be  remedied  by  the  reader,  at  the  expense  of 
sense  or  the  established  rules  of  accent  and  quantity. 
Take  the  following: 

EXAMPLE. 

O'er  shields,  and  helms,  and  helmed  heads  he  rode, 
Of  thrones,  and  mighty  Seraphim  ipvostrate. 

According  to  the  metrical  accent,  the  last  word  must  be 
pronounced  "  pros-^rafe'."  But  according  to  the  authorized 
pronunciation  it  is  "^^ros'trate."  Which  shall  yield,  the 
poet  or  established  usage?     Certainly  not  the  latter. 

Some  writers  advise  a  compromise  of  the  matter,  and 
that  the  word  should  be  j^ronounced  without  accenting 
either  syllable.  Sometimes  this  may  be  done,  but  w^here  it 
is  not  practiced,  the  prosaic  reading  should  be  preserved. 

In  the  following  examples,  the  w'ords  and  syllables  which 
are   improperly    accented    or    emphasized    in    the    poetry,   are 

6.-4. 


42  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

marked  in  italics.  According  to  the  principle  stated  above, 
the  reader  should  avoid  giving  them  that  pronunciation 
which  the  correct  reading  of  the  poetry  would  require,  but 
should  read  them  as  prose,  except  where  he  can  throw  ofi' 
all  accent  and  thus  compromise  the  conflict  between  the 
poetic  reading  and  the  correct  reading.  That  is,  he  must 
read  the  poetry  wrong,  in  order  to  read  the  language  right. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Ask  of  thy  mother  earth  why  oaks  are  made 
Tallci-  and  stronger  than  the  weeds  they  shade. 

2.  Their  praise  is  still,  "  the  style  is  excelleiit," 
The  sense  they  humbly  take  upon  content. 

3.  False  eloquence,  like  (he  prismatic  glass, 
Its  fairy  colors  spreads  on  every  jilace. 

4.  To  do  aught  good,  never  will  be  our  task, 
But  ever  to  do  ill  is  our  sole  delight. 

5.  Of  all  the  causes  which  combine  to  blind 
Man's  erring  judgment,  a7id  mislead  the  mind, 
What  the  weak  head  with  strongest  bias  rules, 
Is  pride,  the  never-failing  vice  of  fools. 

6.  Eye  Nature's  walks,  shoot  folly  as  it  flies, 
And  catch  the  manners  living  as  they  rise. 

7.  To  whom  then,  first  incensed,  Adam  replied, 
"Is  this  thy  love,  is  this  the  recompense 

Of  mine  to  thee,  ungrateful  Eve?" 

8.  We  may,  with  more  successful  hope,  resolve 
To  wage,  by  force  or  guile,  successful  war, 
Irreconcilable  to  our  grand  foe. 

Who  now  triumphs,  and  in  excess  of  joy 
Sole  reigning  holds  the  tyranny  of  Heaven. 

9.  Which,  when  Beelzebub  perceived  (than  whom, 
Satan  except,  none  higher  sat),  with  grave 
Aspect,  he  rose,  and  in  his  rising  seemed 

A  pillar  of  state. 


SIXTH  READER.  43 

10.    Thee,  Sion,  and  the  flowery  brooks  beneath, 

That  wash  thy  hallowed  feet,  and  warbling  flow, 
Nightly  1  visit:    nor  sometimes  forget 
Those  other  two  equaled  with  me  in  fate. 

Note. — Although  it  would  be  necessarj',  in  these  examples,  to  violate 
the  laws  of  accent  or  emphasis,  to  give  perfect  rhythm,  yet  a  careful 
and  well-trained  reader  will  be  able  to  observe  these  laws  and  still  give 
the  rhythm  in  such  a  manner  that  the  defect  will  scai"cely  be  noticed. 


POETIC  PAUSES. 


In  order  to  make  the  measure  of  poetry  perceptible  to 
the  ear,  there  should  generally  be  a  slight  pause  at  the  end 
of  each  line,  even  where  the  sense  does  not  require  it. 

There  is,  also,  in  almost  every  line  of  poetry,  a  pause 
at  or  near  its  middle,  which  is  called  the  ceesura. 

This  should,  however,  never  be  so  placed  as  to  injure 
the  sense  of  the  passage.  It  is  indeed  reckoned  a  great 
beauty,  where  it  naturally  coincides  with  the  pause  re- 
quired by  the  sense.  The  coesura,  though  generally  placed 
near  the  middle,  may  be  2>lJiced  at  other  intervals. 

There  are  sometimes,  also,  two  additional  pauses  in  each 
line,  called  demi-ca^suras. 

The  caesura  is  marked  (||),  and  the  demi-ccesura  thus, 
(  I  ),  in  the  examples  given. 

There  should  be  a  marked  accent  upon  the  long  syllable 
next  preceding  the  caesura,  and  a  slighter  one  upon  that 
next  before  each  of  the  demi-csesuras.  When  made  too 
prominent,  these  pauses  lead  to  a  sing-song  style,  which 
should  be  carefidly  avoided. 

In  the  following  examples,  the  caesura  is  marked  in  each 
line;    the  demi-caesura  is  not  marked  in  every  case. 


44  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


EXAMPLES. 

1.  Nature  |  to  all  things  1|  fixed  |  the  limits  fit, 

And  wisely  |  curbed  ||  proud  man's  |  pretending  wit. 

2.  Then  from  his  closing  eyes  ||  thy  form  shall  pai't, 
And  the  last  pang  ||  shall  tear  thee  from  his  heart. 

3.  Warms  in  the  sun,  ||  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
Glows  in  the  stai's,  ||  and  blossoms  in  the  trees. 

4.  There  is  a  land  ||  of  every  land  the  pride, 
Beloved  by  Heaven  ||  o'er  all  the  world  beside, 
Where  brighter  suns  ||  dispense  serener  light, 
And  milder  moons  ||  imparadise  the  night; 

Oh,  thou  slialt  find,  ||  howe'er  thy  footsteps  roam, 
That  land  —  thy  country,  ||  and  that  spot  —  thy  home. 

5.  In  slumbers  |  of  midnight  ||  the  sailor  |  boy  lay; 

His  hammock  |  swung  loose  ||  at  the  sport  |  of  the  wind; 
But,  watch-worn  |  and  weary,  ||  his  cares  |  flew  away. 
And  visions  |  of  happiness  ||  danced  |  o'er  his  mind. 

6.  She  said,  |  and  struck;  ||  deep  entered  ]  in  her  side 
The  piercing  steel,  ||  with  reeking  purple  dyed: 
Clogged  I  in  the  wound  |1  the  cruel  |  weapon  stands. 
The  spouting  blood  ||  came  streaming  o'er  her  hands- 
Her  sad  attendants  ||  saw  the  deadly  stroke. 

And  with  loud  cries  ||  the  sounding  palace  shook. 


SIMILE. 


Simile  is  the  likening  of  any  thing  to  another  object  of  a 
different  class;    it  is  a  poetical  or  imaginative  comparison. 


SIXTH  READER.  45 

A  simile,  in  poetry,  should  usually  be  read  in  a  lower 
key  and  more  rapidly  than  other  parts  of  the  passage  — 
somewhat  as  a  parenthesis  is  read. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Part  curb  their  fiery  steeds,  or  shun  the  goal 
With  rapid  wheels,  or  fronted  brigades  form. 
As  when,  to  warn  proud  cities,  war  appears, 
Waged  in  the  troubled  sky,  and  armies  rush 

To  battl^  in  the  clouds. 

Others  with  vast  Typhoean  rage  more  fell, 
Rend  up  both  rocks  and  hills,  and  ride  the  air 
In  whirlwind.     Hell  scarce  holds  the  wild  uproar. 
As  when  Alcides  felt  the  envenomed  robe,  and  tore, 
Through  pain,  up  by  the  roots,  Thessalian  pines. 
And  Lichas  from  the  top  of  (Eta  threw 
Into  the  Euboic  sea. 

2.  Each  at  the  head, 
Leveled  his  deadly  aim;    their  fatal  hands 
No  second  stroke  intend;    and  such  a  frown 
Each  cast  at  th'  other,  as  when  two  black  clouds, 
With  heaven  s  artillery  fraught,  came  rolling  on 
Over  the  Caspian,  there  stand  front  to  front. 
Hovering  a  space,  till  winds  the  signal  blow 

To  join  the  dark  encounter,  in  mid-air : 
So  frowned  the  mighty  combatants. 

3.  Then  pleased  and  thankful  from  the  porch  they  go, 
And,  but  the  landlord,  none  had  cause  of  woe: 

His  cup  was  vanished;    for,  in  secret  guise, 

The  younger  guest  purloined  the  glittering  prize. 

As  one  who  spies  a  serpent  in  his  way. 

Glistening  and  basking  in  the  summer  ray. 

Disordered,  stops  to  shun  the  danger  near, 

Then  walks  with  faintness  or,,  and  looks  with  fear, — 

So  seemed  the  sire,  when,  far  upon  the  road, 

The  shining  spoil  his  wily  partner  showed. 


46  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Y.  THE  VOICE. 

PITCH   AND   COMPASS. 

The  natural  pitch  of  the  voice  is  its  key-note,  or  govern- 
ing note.  It  is  that  on  which  the  voice  usually  dwells, 
and  to  which  it  most  frequently  returns  when  wearied.  It 
is  also  the  pitch  used  in  conversation,  and  the  one  which 
a  reader  or  speaker  naturally  adopts  —  when  he  reads  or 
speaks  —  most  easily  and  agreeably. 

The  compass  of  the  voice  is  its  range  above  and  below 
this  pitch.  To  avoid  monotony  in  reading  or  speaking, 
the  voice  should  rise  above  or  fall  below  this  key-note, 
but  always  with  reference  to  the  sense  or  character  of 
that  which  is  read  or  spoken.  The  proper  natural  pitch 
is  that  above  and  below  which  there  is  most  room  for 
variation. 

To  strengthen  the  voice  and  increase  its  compass,  select 
a  short  sentence,  repeat  it  several  times  in  succession  in 
as  low  a  key  as  the  voice  can  sound  naturally;  then  rise 
one  note  higher,  and  practice  on  that  key,  then  another, 
and  so  on,  until  the  highest  pitch  of  the  voice  has  been 
reached.  Next,  reverse  the  process,  until  the  lowest  pitch 
has  been  reached. 

EXAMPLES    IN    PITCH. 
High  Pitch. 

Note.— Be  careful  to  distinguish  p»<c/i  from  poivcr  in  the  following 
exercises.  Speaking  in  the  open  air,  at  the  very  top  of  the  voice,  is  an 
exercise  admirably  adapted  to  strengthen  the  voice  and  give  it  compass, 
and  should  be  frequently  practiced. 

1.  ChargeM  Chester\  chargeM     OnM  Stanley,  onM 

2.  A  horse^ !  a  horse^ !  my  kingdom^  for  a  horse^ ! 

3.  Jump  far  out\  boy\  into  the  waveM 
Jump^,  or  T  fire^l 


i 


I 


SIXTH  READER.  47 

4.  RunM  runM  run  for  your  lives! 

5.  FireM  fireM  fireM     Ring  the  bellM 

6.  Gentlemen  may  cry  peace^ !  peace^ !  but  there  is  no  peace ! 

7.  Rouse\  ye  Romans!  rouse\  ye  slaves^! 

Have  ye  brave  sons^?     Look  in  the  next  fierce  brawl 
To  see  them  die^.     Have  ye  fair  daughters^?     Look 
To  see  them  live,  torn  from  your  arms\  distained^, 
Dishonored\  and  if  ye  dare  call  for  justice', 
Be  answered  by  the  lash^ ! 

Medium  Pitch. 

Note.— This  is  tlie  pitch  in  wliich  we  converse.  To  strengthen  it,  we 
should  read  or  speak  in  it  as  loud  as  possible,  without  rising  to  a  higlier 
key.    To  do  this  requires  long-continued  practice. 

\.    Under  a  spreading  chestnut  tree, 

The  village  smithy  stands^; 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands^; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 

Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

2.  There  is  something  in  the  thunder's  voice  that  makes 
me  tremble  like  a  child.  I  have  tried  to  conquer^  this  un- 
manly weakness^.  I  have  called  pride^  to  my  aid^;  I  have 
sought  for  moral  courage  in  the  lessons  of  iDhilosophy^,  but 
it  avails  me  nothing\  At  the  first  moaning  of  the  distant 
cloud,  my  heart  shrinks  and  dies  within  me. 

3.    He  taught  the  scholars  the  Rule  of  Three'', 
Reading,  and  writing,  and  history^,  too^; 
He  took  the  little  ones  on  his  knee'. 
For  a  kind  old  heart  in  his  breast  had  he'. 
And  the  wants  of  the  littlest  child  he  knew\ 
"Learn  while  you're  young\"  he  often  said', 
"There  is  much  to  enjoy  down  here  below'; 
Life  for  the  living',  and  rest  for  the  dead\" 
Said  the  jolly  old  pedagogue^,  long  ago\ 


48  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


Low   Pitch. 

0,  proper  stuff! 
This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear : 
This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger  which,  you  said, 
Led  you  to  Duncan.     0,  these  flaws  and  starts, 
Impostors  to  true  fear,  would  well  become 
A  woman's  story,  at  a  winter's  fire. 
Authorized  by  her  grandam. 

Thou  slave !  thou  wretch  !   thou  coward ! 
Thou  little  valiant,  great  in  villainy ! 
Thou  ever  strong  upon  the  stronger  side! 
Thou  fortune's  champion,  thou  dost  never  fight 
But  when  her  humorous  ladyship  is  by 
To  teach  thee  safety  I     Thou  art  perjured  too, 
And  sooth'st  up  greatness.     What  a  fool  art  thou, 
A  ramping  fool ;  to  brag,  and  stamp,  and  sweat. 
Upon  my  party !  thou  cold-blooded  slave ! 

God !  thou  art  mighty !     At  thy  footstool  bound, 

Lie,  gazing  to  thee.  Chance,  and  Life,  and  Death ; 

Nor  in  the  angel  circle  flaming  round, 

Nor  in  the  million  worlds  that  blaze  beneath. 

Is  one  that  can  withstand  thy  wrath's  hot  breath. 

Woe,  in  thy  frown:  in  thy  smile,  victory: 

Hear  my  last  prayer!     I  ask  no  mortal  wreath; 

Let  but  these  eyes  my  rescued  country  see, 

Then  take  my  si^irit,  all  Omnipotent,  to  thee. 

0  Thou  eternal  One!  whose  presence  bright 
All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide. 

Unchanged  through  time's  all-devastating  blight! 
Thou  only  God,  there  is  no  god  beside! 

Being  above  all  things,  mighty  One, 

Whom  none  can  comprehend  and  none  explore; 

Who  fill'st  existence  with  thyself  alone, — 
Embracing  all,  supporting,  ruling  o'er, — 
Being  whom  we  call  God,  and  know  no  more ! 


SIXTH  READER.  49 


QUANTITY    AND    QUALITY. 

Quantity,  in  reading  and  speaking,  means  the  length  of 
time  occupied  in  uttering  a  syllable  or  a  word.  Sounds 
and  syllables  vary  greatly  in  quantity.  Some  are  long, 
some  short,  and  others  intermediate  between  those  which 
are  long  or  short.  Some  sounds,  also,  may  be  prolonged 
or  shortened  in  utterance,  to  any  desired  extent.  Quantity 
may  be  classified  as  Long^  Medmm,  or  Short. 

Directions  for  Practice  on  Long  Quantity. — Select 
some  word  of  one  syllable  ending  with  a  long  vocal  or  a 
subvocal  sound ;  pronounce  it  many  times  in  succession, 
increasing  the  quantity  at  each  repetition,  until  you  can 
dwell  upon  it  any  desired  length  of  time,  without  drawling, 
and  in  a  natural   tone. 

Remark.— Practice  in  accordance  with  this  direction  will  enable  the 
pupil  to  secure  that  fullness  and  roundness  of  voice  which  is  exempli- 
fied in  the  hailing  of  a  ship,  "  ship  aho y ; "  in  the  reply  of  the  sailor, 

when,   in   the   roar   of  the   storm,    he   answers   his   captain,    "  ay e, 

ay e ;  "  and  in  the  command  of  tlie  officer  to  his  troops,  when,  amid 

the  thunder  of  artillery,  he  gives  the  order,  "  ma rch,"  or  "  ha It." 

This  fullness  or  roundness  of  tone  is  secured,  by  dwelling  on  the 
vocal  sound,  and  indefinitely  protracting  it.  The  mouth  should  be  opened 
wide,  the  tongue  kept  down,  and  the  aperture  left  as  round  and  as  free 
for  the  voice  as  possible. 

It  is  this  artificial  rotundity  which,  in  connection  with  a  distinct 
articulation,  enables  one  who  speaks  in  the  open  air,  or  in  a  very  large 
apartment,  to  send  his  voice  to  the  most  distant  point.  It  is  a  certain 
degree  of  this  quality,  which  distinguishes  declamatory  or  public 
speaking  or  reading  from  private  conversation,  and  no  one  can  accom- 
plish much,  as  a  public  speaker,  without  cultivating  it.  It  must  be 
carefully  distinguished  from  the  "  high  tone,"  which  is  an  elevation  of 
pitch,  and  from  "  loudness,"  or  "  strength  "  of  voice. 

It  will  be  observed  that  clearness  and  distinctness  of  utterance  are 
secured  by  a  proper  use  of  the  subvocals  and  aspirates— these  sounds 
giving  to  words  their  shape,  as  it  were ;  but  a  clear,  full,  and  well-mod- 
ulated utterance  of  the  vocals  gives  to  words  their  fullness. 

LONG   QUANTITY. 

1.  Liberty!     Freedom!     Tyranny  is  dead! 

2.  Woe,  woe,  to  the  inhabitants  of  Jerusalem ! 

6.-5, 


50  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

3.  0  righteous  Heaven !  ere  Freedom  found  a  grave, 
Why  slept  the  sword,  omnipotent  to  save? 
Where  was  thine  arm,  0  Vengeance!  where  thy  rod, 
That  smote  the  foes  of  Zion  and  of  God  ? 

4.  O  sailor-boy !  sailor-boy !  never  again 

Shall  home,  love,  or  kindred  thy  wishes  repay; 
Unblessed  and  unhonored,  down  deep  in  the  main, 
Full  many  a  score  fathom,  thy  frame  shall  decay. 

5.  O  Lord,  our  Lord,  how  excellent  is  thy  name  in  all  the 
earth!  who  hast  set  thy  glory  above  the  heavens!  When  I 
consider  thy  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fingers ;  the  moon  and 
the  stars,  which  thou  hast  ordained;  what  is  man,  that  thou 
art  mindful  of  him?  and  the  son  of  man,  that  thou  visitest 
him?  For  thou  hast  made  him  a  little  lower  than  the  angels, 
and  hast  crowned  him  with  glory  and  honor.  Thou  madest 
him  to  have  dominion  over  the  work  of  thy  hands;  thou  hast 
put  all  things  under  his  feet.  0  Lord,  our  Lord,  how  excel- 
lent is  thy  name  in  all  the  earth ! 

MEDIUM   QUANTITY. 

1.  Between  Nose  and  Eyes  a  strange  contest  arose; 

The  spectacles  set  them,  unhappily,  wrong; 
The  point  in  dispute  was,  as  all  the  world  knows, 
To  which  the  said  spectacles  ought  to  belong. 

2.  Bird  of  the  broad  and  sweeping  wing! 

Thy  home  is  high  in  heaven. 
Where  the  wide  storms  their  banners  fling. 
And  the  tempest  clouds  are  driven. 

3.  At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent. 

The  Turk  lay  dreaming  of  the  hour 
When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent. 
Should  tremble  at  his  power. 

4.  On  New-year's  night,  an  old  man  stood  at  his  window, 
and  looked,  with  a  glance  of  fearful  despair,  up  the  immov- 
able, unfading  heaven,  and  down  upon  the  still,  pure,  white 
earth,  on  which  no  one  was  now  so  joyless  and  sleepless  as  he. 


I 


SIXTH  READER.  51 


SHORT    QUANTITY. 

1.  Quick!  or  he  faints!  stand  with  the  cordial  near! 

2.  Back  to  thy  punishment,  false  fugitive! 

3.  Fret  till  your  proud  heart  breaks !  Must  I  observe  you  ? 
Must  I  crouch  beneath  your  testy  humor? 

4.  Up  draw-bridge,  grooms !  what,  warder,  ho ! 
Let  the  portcullis  fall! 

5.  Quick,  man   the  life-boat!  see  yon  bark. 

That  drives  before  the  blast! 
There's  a  rock  ahead,  the  fog  is  dark, 
And  the  storm  comes  thick  and  fast. 

6.  I  am  at  liberty,  like  every  other  man,  to  use  my  own 
language;  and  though,  perhaps,  I  may  have  some  ambition  to 
please  this  gentleman,  I  shall  not  lay  myself  under  any  re- 
straint, nor  very  solicitously  coj^y  his  diction,  or  his  mien, 
however  matured  by  age  or  modeled  by  experience. 


MOVEMENT. 

Movement  is  the  rapidity  with  which  the  voice  moves 
m  reading  and  speaking.  It  varies  with  the  nature  of  the 
thought  or  sentiment  to  be  expressed,  and  should  be  in- 
creased or  diminished  as  good  taste  may  determine.  With 
pupils  generally,  the  tendency  is  to  read  too  fast.  The 
result  is,  reading  or  speaking  in  too  high  a  key  and  an 
unnatural  style  of  delivery — both  of  which  faults  are  diffi- 
cult to  be  corrected  when  once  formed.  The  kinds  of 
movement  are  Slow,  Moderate,  and   Quick. 

Directions. — Read  a  selection  as  slowly  as  possible, 
without  drawling.  Read  it  again  and  again,  increasing 
the   rate    of  movement   at    each   reading,   until    it    can    be 


52  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

read  no  faster  without  the  utterance  becoming  indistinct. 
Reverse  this  process,  reading  more  and  more  slowly  at 
each  repetition,  until  the  slowest  movement  is  obtained. 

SLOW    MOVEMENT. 

1.  Oh  that  those  lips  had  language!     Life  has  passed 
With  me  but  roughly,  since  I  heard  them  last. 

2.  A  tremulous  sigh  from  the  gentle  night-wind 

Through  the  forest  leaves  slowly  is  creeping, 
While  stars  up  above,  with  their  glittering  eyes, 
Keep  guard;  for  the  army  is  sleeping. 

8.  0  Lord' !  have  mercy  upon  us,  miserable  offenders^ ! 

4.  So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death. 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

MODERATE    MOVEMENT. 

1.  The  good',  the  brave',  the  beautiful\ 

How  dreamless^  is  their  sleep. 
Where  rolls  the  dirge-like  music' 

Of  the  ever-tossing  deep^ ! 
Or  where  the  surging  night- winds 

Pale  Winter's  robes  have  spread 
Above  the  narrow  palaces, 

In  the  cities  of  the  dead** ! 

2.  Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 

We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time. 


SIXTH  READER.  53 

3.  Cast  your  eyes  over  this  extensive  country.  Observe  the 
salubrity  of  your  climate,  the  variety  and  fertility  of  your 
soil;  and  see  that  soil  intersected  in  every  quarter  by  bold, 
navigable  streams,  floveing  to  the  east  and  to  the  west,  as  if 
the  finger  of  heaven  vpere  marking  out  the  course  of  your  set- 
tlements, inviting  you  to  enterprise,  and  pointing  the  way  to 
wealth. 

QUICK   MOVEMENT. 

1.  Awake^!  arise^ !  or  be  forever  fallen. 

2.  Merrily  swinging  on  brier  and  weed, 

Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 
Over  the  mountain-side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name. 

3.  Not  a  word  to  each  other;  we  kept  the  great  pace — 
Neck  by  neck,  stride  by  stride,  never  changing  our  place; 
I  turned  in  my  saddle  and  made  its  girths  tight. 
Then  shortened  each  stirrup  and  set  the  pique  I'ight, 
Rebvickled  the  check-strap,  chained  slacker  the  bit. 
Nor  galloped  less  steadily  Roland  a  whit. 

4.  Oh  my  dear  uncle,  you  don't  know  the  effect  of  a  fine 
spring  morning  upon  a  fellow  just  arrived  from  Russia.  The 
day  looked  bright,  trees  budding,  birds  singing,  the  park  so 
gay,  that  I  took  a  leap  out  of  your  balcony,  made  your  deer 
fly  before  me  like  the  wind,  and  chased  them  all  around  the 
park  to  get  an  appetite  for  breakfast,  while  you  were  snoring 
in  bed,  uncle. 

ftuality. — We  notice  a  difference  between  the  soft,  insin- 
uating tones  of  persuasion ;  the  full,  strong  voice  of  com- 
mand and  decision ;  the  harsh,  irregular,  and  sometimes 
grating  explosion  of  the  sounds  of  passion ;  the  plaintive 
notes  of  sorrow  and  pity ;  and  the  equable  and  unimpas- 
sioned  flow  of  words  in  argumentative  style.  This  differ- 
ence consists  in  a  variation  in  the  quality  of  the  voice  by 
which  it  is  adapted  to  the  character  of  the  thought  or 
sentiment    read    or    spoken.      In    our    attempts    to    imitate 


54 


ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


nature,  however,  it  is  important  that  all  affectation  be 
avoided,  for  perfect  monotony  is  preferable  to  this  fault. 
The  tones  of  the  voice  should  be  made  to  correspond  with 
the  nature  of  the  subject,  tvithout  apparent  effort. 


EXAMPLES. 


Passion 

and 

Grief. 


"  Come  back !  come  back ! "  he  cried,  in  grief, 

"Across  this  stormy  water; 
And  I'll  forgive  your  Highland  chief, 

My  daughter!  O,  my  daughter!" 


Plaintive. 


I  have  lived  long  enough:  my  way  of  life 
Is  fallen  into  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf: 
And  tliat  which  should  accompany  old  age, 
As  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 
I  must  not  look  to  have. 


fA  very  great  portion  of  this  globe  is  covered 
with  water,  which  is  called  sea,  and  is  very  dis- 
tinct from  rivers  and  lakes. 


Fierce 
A  nger. 


Burned  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire, 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire; 

And — "  This  to  me  !  "  he  said, — 
"An  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head! 


Loud 

and 

Explosive. 


"  Even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride. 
Here,  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near, 

I  tell  thee,  thou  'rt  defied ! 
And  if  thou  said'st,  I  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, 
Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near, 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied ! " 


SIXTH  READER.  55 


YI.  GESTURE. 

Gesture  is  tliat  part  of  the  speaker's  manner  which  per- 
tains to  his  attitude,  to  the  use  and  carriage  of  his  person, 
and  the  movement  of  his  limbs  in  delivery. 

Every  person,  in  beginning  to  speak,  feels  the  natural 
embarrassment  resulting  from  his  neA'  position.  The  nov- 
elty of  the  situation  destroys  his  self-possession,  and,  with 
the  loss  of  that,  be  becomes  awkward,  his  arms  and  hands 
hang  clumsily,  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  seem  to  him 
worse  than  superfluous  members.  This  embarrassment  will 
be  overcome  gradually,  as  the  speaker  becomes  familiar 
Avith  his  position ;  and  it  is  sometimes  overcome  at  once, 
by  a  powerful  exercise  of  the  attention  upon  the  matter 
of  the  sj)eech.  When  that  fills  and  possesses  the  mind, 
the  orator  is  likely  to  take  the -attitude  which  is  becoming, 
and,  at  least,  easy  and  natural,  if  not  graceful. 

1st.  The  first  general  direction  that  should  be  given  to 
the  speaker  is,  that  he  should  dand  erect  and  firm,  and 
in  that  posture  which  gives  an  expanded  chest  and  full 
play  to  the  organs  of  respiration  and  utterance. 

2d.  Let  the  attitude  be  such  that  it  can  be  shifted  easily 
and  gracefidly.  The  student  will  find,  by  trial,  that  no 
attitude  is  so  favorable  to  this  end  as  that  in  which  the 
weight  of  the  body  is  thrown  upon  one  leg,  leaving  the 
other  free  to  be  advanced  or  thrown  back,  as  fatigue  or 
the  proper  action   of  delivery  may  require. 

The  student  who  has  any  regard  to  grace  or  elegance, 
will  of  course  avoid  all  the  gross  faults  which  are  so  com- 
mon among  public  speakers,  such  as  resting  one  foot  upon 
a  stool  or  bench,  or  throwing  the  body  forward  upon  the 
support  of  the  rostrum. 

3d.  Next  to  attitude,  come  the  movements  of  the  person 
and  limbs.  In  these,  two  objects  are  to  be  observed,  and, 
if  possible,  combined,  viz.,  propriety   and   grace.      There   is 


56  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

expression  in  the  extended  arm,  the  clinched  hand,  the 
open  palm,  and  the  smiting  of  the  breast.  But  let  no 
gesture  be  made  that  is  not  in  harmony  with  the  thought 
or  sentiment  uttered;  for  it  is  this  harmony  which  con- 
stitutes propriety.  As  far  as  possible,  let  there  be  a 
correspondence  between  the  style  of  action  and  the  train 
of  thought.  Where  the  thought  flows  on  calmly,  let  there 
be  grace  and  ease  ii>  gesture  and  action.  Where  the  style 
is  sharp  and  abrupt,  there  is  propriety  in  quick,  short, 
and  abrupt  gesticulation.  Especially  avoid  that  ungraceful 
sawing  of  the  air  with  the  arms,  into  which  an  ill-regulated 
fervor  ■  betrays  many  young  speakers. 

What  is  called  a  graceful  manner,  can  only  be  attained 
by  those  who  have  some  natural  advantages  of  person.  So 
far  as  it  is  in  the  reach  of  study  or  practice,  it  seems  to 
depend  chiefly  upon  the  general  cultivation  of  manners, 
implying  freedom  from  all  embarrassments,  and  entire  self- 
possession.  The  secret  of  acquiring  a  graceful  style  of 
gesture,  Ave  apprehend,  lies  in  the  habitual  practice,  not 
only  when  speaking  but  at  all  times,  of  free  and  graceful 
movements  of  the  limbs. 

There  is  no  limb  nor  feature  which  the  accomplished 
speaker  will  not  employ  with  effect,  in  the  course  of  a 
various  and  animated  delivery.  The  arms,  however,  are 
the  chief  reliance  of  the  orator  in  gesture;  and  it  will 
not  be  amiss  to  give  a  hint  or  two  in  reference  to  their 
proper  use. 

First  —  It  is  not  an  uncommon  fault  to  use  one  arm 
exclusively,  and  to  give  that  a  uniform  movement.  Such 
movement  may,  sometimes,  have  become  habitual  from 
one's  profession  or  employment;  but  in  learners,  also,  there 
is  often  a  predisposition  to  this  fault. 

Second  —  It  is  not  unusual  to  see  a  speaker  use  only 
the  lower  half  of  his  arm.  This  always  gives  a  stiff"  and 
constrained  manner  to  delivery.  Let  the  whole  arm  move, 
and  let  the  movement  be  free  and  flowing. 


SIXTH  BEADEB.  57 

Third  —  As  a  general  rule,  let  the  hand  be  open,  with 
the  fingers  slightly  curved.  It  then  seems  liberal,  com- 
municative, and  candid;  and,  in  some  degree,  gives  that 
expression  to  the  style  of  delivery.  Of  course  there  are 
passages  Avhich  require  the  clinched  hand,  the  pointed 
finger,  etc.,  etc.;  but  these  are  used  to  give  a  particular 
expression. 

FouHh — In  the  movements  of  the  arm,  study  variety 
and  the  grace  of  curved  lines. 

When  a  gesture  is  made  with  one  arm  only,  the  eye 
should  be  cast  in  the  direction  of  that  arm;  not  at  it, 
but  over  it. 

All  speakers  employ,  more  or  less,  the  motions  of  the 
head.  In  reference  to  that  member,  we  make  but  one 
observation.  Avoid  the  continuous  shaking  and  bobbing 
of  the  head,  which  is  so  conspicuous  in  the  action  of  many 
ambitious  public  speakers. 

The  beauty  and  force  of  all  gesture  consist  in  its  timely, 
judicious,  and  natural  employment,  when  it  can  serve  to 
illustrate  the  meaning  or  give  emphasis  to  the  force  of  an 
important  passage.  The  usual  fault  of  young  speakers 
is  too  much  action.  To  emphasize  all  parts  alike,  is 
equivalent  to  no  emphasis;  and  by  employing  forcible 
gestures  on  unimportant  passages,  we  diminish  our  power 
to  render  other  parts  impressive. 


ELOCUTION  AND   READING. 

The  business  of  training  youth  in  elocution,  must  be 
commenced  in  childhood.  The  first  school  is  the  nursery. 
There,  at  least,  may  be  formed  a  distinct  articulation, 
which  is  the  first  requisite  for  good  speaking.  How  rarely 
is  it  found  in  perfection  among  our  orators. 


68  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Words,  says  one,  referring  to  articulation,  should  "be 
delivered  out  from  the  lijjs,  as  beautiful  coins,  newly  issued 
from  the  mint;  deeply  and  accurately  impressed,  perfectly 
finished;  neatly  struck  by  the  proper  organs,  distinct,  in 
due  succession,  and  of  due  weight."  How  rarely  do  we 
hear  a  speaker  whose  tongue,  teeth,  and  lips,  do  their  office 
so  perfectly  as  to  answer  to  this  beautiful  description !  And 
the  common  faults  in  articulation,  it  should  be  remembered, 
take  their  rise  from  the  very  nursery. 

Grace  in  eloquence,  in  the  pulpit,  at  the  bar,  can  not  be 
separated  from  grace  in  the  ordinary  manners,  in  private 
life,  in  the  social  circle,  in  the  family.  It  can  not  well 
be  superinduced  upon  all  the  other  acquisitions  of  youth, 
any  more  than  that  nameless,  but  invaluable,  quality 
called  good-breeding.  Begin,  therefore,  the  work  of  form- 
ing the  orator  with  the  child;  not  merely  by  teaching  him 
to  declaim,  but  what  is  of  more  consequence,  by  observing 
and  correcting  his  daily  manners,  motions,  and  attitudes. 
You  can  say,  when  he  comes  into  your  apartment,  or 
presents  you  with  something,  a  book  or  letter,  in  an 
awkward  and  blundering  manner,  "Return,  and  enter 
this  room  again,"  or,  "Present  me  that  book  in  a  differ- 
ent manner,"  or,  "  Put  yourself  in  a  different  attitude." 
You  can  explain  to  hirii  the  difference  between  thrusting 
or  pushing  out  his  hand  and  arm,  in  straight  lines  and 
at  acute  angles,  and  moving  them  in  flowing  circular 
lines,  and  easy  graceful  action.  He  will  readily  under- 
stand you.  Nothing  is  more  true  than  that  the  motions 
of  children  are  originally  graceful;  it  is  by  suffering  them 
to  be  perverted,  that  we  lay  the  foundation  of  invincible 
awkwardness  in  later  life. 

In  schools  for  children,  it  ought  to  be  a  leading  object 
to  teach  the  art  of  reading.  It  ought  to  occupy  threefold 
more  time  than  it  does.  The  teachers  of  these  schools  should 
labor  to  improve  themselves.  They  should  feel  that  to  them, 
for  a  time,  are  committed  the  future  orators  of  the  land. 


SIXTH  READEB.  59 

It  is  better  that  a  girl  should  return  from  school  a  first- 
rate  reader,  than  a  first-rate  performer  on  the  piano-forte. 
The  accomplishment,  in  its  perfection,  would  give  more 
pleasure.  The  voice  of  song  is  not  sweeter  than  the  voice 
of  eloquence;  and  there  may  be  eloquent  readers,  as  well 
as  eloquent  speakers.  We  speak  of  'perfection  in  this  art : 
and  it  is  something,  we  must  say  in  defense  of  our  prefer- 
ence, which  we  have  never  yet  seen.  Let  the  same  pains 
be  devoted  to  reading,  as  are  required  to  form  an  accom- 
plished performer  on  an  instrument;  let  us  have,  as  the 
ancients  had,  the  formers  of  the  voice,  the  music-masters 
of  the  reading  voice;  let  us  see  years  devoted  to  this 
accomplishment,  and  then  we  should  be  prepared  to  stand 
the  comparison. 

Reading  is,  indeed,  a  most  intellectual  accomplishment. 
So  is  music,  too,  in  its  perfection.  We  do  by  no  means 
undervalue  this  noble  and  most  delightful  art,  to  which 
Socrates  aj)plied  himself  even  in  his  old  age.  But  one 
recommendation  of  the  art  of  reading  is,  that  it  requires 
a  constant  exercise  of  mind.  It  involves,  in  its  perfection, 
the  whole  art  of  criticism  on  language.  A  man  may  pos- 
sess a  fine  genius  without  being  a  perfect  reader;  but  he 
can  not  be  a  perfect  reader  without  genius. 


ON   MODULATION. 
From  Lloyd. 


'T  is  not  enough  the  voice^  be  sound  and  clear^, 
'T  is  modulation''  that  must  charm  the  ear. 
When  desperate  heroes  grieve  with  tedious  moan, 
And  whine  their  sorrows  in  a  see-saw  tone, 
The  same  soft  sounds  of  unimpassioned  woes. 
Can  only  make  the  yawning  hearers  doze. 


60  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

The  voice  all  modes  of  passion  can  express, 
That  marks  the  proper  word  with  proper  stress: 
But  none  emphatic  can  that  speaker  call, 
Who  lays  an  equal  emphasis  on  all. 

Some  o'er  the  tongue  the  labored  measure  roll, 
Slow  and-  deliberate  as  the  parting  toll ; 
Point  every  stop,  mark  every  pause  so  strong, 
Their  words  like  stage  processions  stalk  along. 

All  affectation  but  creates  disgust; 
And  e'en  in  speaking,  we  may  seem  too  just. 
In  vain;; for  them'^_  the  pleasing  measure  flows, 
Whose  recitation  runs  it  all  to  prose; 
Repeating  what  the  poet  sets  not  down, 
V  The  verb  disjointing  from  its  favorite  noun, 
X" While  pause,  and  break,  and  repetition  join 
To  make  a  discord  in  each  tuneful  line^. 

Some''  placid  natures  fill  the  allotted  scene 
With  lifeless  drawls,  insipid  and  serene; 
While  other/  thunder  every  couplet  o'er, 
And  almost  crack  your  ears  with  rant  and  roar; 
More  nature  oft,  and  finer  strokes  are  shown 
In  the  low  whisjaer  than  tempestuous  tone; 
And  Hamlet's  hollow  voice  and  fixed  amaze, 
More  powerful  terror  to  the  mind  conveys 
Than  he,  who,  swollen  with  impetuous  rage, 
Bullies  the  bulky  phantom  of  the  stage. 

He  who,  in  earnest,  studies  o'er  his  part, 
Will  find  true  nature  cling  about  his  heart. 
The  modes  of  grief  are  not  included  all 
In  the  white  handkerchief  and  mournful  drawl: 
A  single  loolc'  more  marks  the  internal  woe. 
Than  all  the  windings  of  the  lengthened  Oh>  I 


MCGUFFET'S 
SIXTH  READER. 


MCQUFFET'S 
SIXTH    READER 


SELECTIONS  FOR  READING. 


I.    ANECDOTE    OF    THE    DUKE   OF    NEWCASTLE. 

A  LAUGHABLE  story  was  circulated  during  the  admin- 
istration of  tlie  old  Duke  of  Newcastle,  and  retailed  to 
the  public  in  various  forms.  This  nobleman,  with  many- 
good  points,  was  remarkable  for  being  profuse  of  his  prom- 
ises on  all  occasions,  and  valued  himself  particularly,  on 
being  able  to  anticijDate  the  words  or  the  wants  of  the  va- 
rious persons  who  attended  his  levees,  before  they  uttered 
a  word.  This  sometimes  led  him  into  ridiculous  embarrass- 
ments; and  it  was  this  proneness  to  lavish  jiromises,  which 
gave  occasion  for  the  following  anecdote. 

At  the  election  of  a  certain  borough  in  Cornwall,  where 
the  opposite  interests  were  almost  equally  poised,  a  single 
vote  was  of  the  highest  importance.  This  object  the 
Duke,  by  weP.  applied  argument  and  personal  api^lication, 
at  length  attained;  and  the  gentleman  he  recommended, 
gained  the  election.  In  the  warmth  of  gratitude,  his  grace 
poured  forth  acknowledgments  and  promises  without  ceas- 
ing, on  the  fortunate   possessor  of  the  casting  vote;    called 

(63) 


g4  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

him  his  best  and  dearest  friend ;  protested,  that  he  should 
consider  himself  as  forever  indebted  to  him ;  and  that  he 
would  serve  him  by  night  or  by  day. 

The  Cornish  voter,  who  was  an  honest  fellow,  and  would 
not  have  thought  himself  entitled  to  any  reward,  but  for 
such  a  torrent  of  acknowledgments,  thanked  the  Duke  for 
his  kindness,  and  told  him  the  supervisor  of  excise  was 
old  and  infirm,  and,  if  he  would  have  the  goodness  to 
recommend  his  son-in-law  to  the  commissioners,  in  case 
of  the  old  man's  death,  he  should  think  himself  and  his 
family  bound  to  render  his  grace  every  assistance  in  their 
power,  on  any  future  occasion. 

"  My  dear  friend,  why  do  you  ask  for  such  a  trifling 
employment?"  exclaimed  his  grace;  "your  relative  shall 
have  it  the  moment  the  place  is  vacant,  if  you  Avill  but 
call  my  attention  to  it." 

"But  how  shall  I  get  admitted  to  you,  my  lord?  For 
in  London,  I  understand,  it  is  a  very  difficult  business 
to  get  a  sight  of  you  great  folks,  though  you  are  so  kind 
and  complaisant  to  us  in  the  country." 

"  The  instant  the  man  dies,"  replied  the  Duke,  "  set 
out  post-haste  for  London;  drive  dii'ectly  to  my  house, 
and,  be  it  by  night  or  by  day,  thunder  at  the  door;  I 
will  leave  word  with  my  porter  to  show  you  im'  stafes 
directly ;  and  the  employment  shall  be  disposed  of  accord- 
ing to  your  wishes.';.  ,^  ,      ^     ^^ 

The  parties  separated ;  the  Duke  drove  to  a  friend's 
house  in  the  neighborhood,  without  a  wish  Or  desii'e  to  see 
his  new  acquaintance  till  that  day  seven  years;  blit  the 
memory  of  a  Cornigh  elector,  not  being  ^burdened  with 
such  a  variety  of  objects,  was  more  retentive.  The  sui^fr- 
visor  died  a  few  mouths  after,  and  the  Duke's  humble 
friend,  lelying  on  the  word  of  a  peer,  was  conveyed  !o 
London  post-haste,  and  ascended  ^vith  alacrity  the  steps  of 
that  nobleman's  palace. 

The  reader  sliould    be   informed,  that  just  at  this  time, 


SIXTH  READER.  65 

no  less  a  person  than  the  King  of  Spain  was  expected 
houi-ly  to  depart  this  life, — an  event  in  which  the  minister 
of  Great  Britain  was  particularly  concerned;  and  the  Duke 
of  Newcastle,  on  the  very  night  that  the  jDroprietor  of  the 
decisive  vote  arrived  at  his  door,  had  sat  up  anxiously 
expecting  dispatches  from  Madrid.  Wearied-  by  official 
busii^ess  and  ^agitated  spirits,  lie  rfe'tired  to  rest,  having 
previously  given  particular  instructions  to  his  porter  not  to 
go  to  bed,  as  he  expected  every  minute  a  messenger  with 
^.  advices  of  the  greatest  importance,  and,  desired  that  he 
L^'"  inight  be  shown  up  stairs,  the  moment  of  his  arrival. 

His  grfice  wa'^  goiind  asleepi ;  and  the  porter,  settled 
for  the  night  in  his  arm-chair,  had  already  commenced  a 
sonorous  nap,  when  the  vigorous  arm  of  the  Cornish  voter 
roused  him  from  his  slumbers.  To  his  first  question,  "Is 
the  Duke  at  home?"  the  porter  replied,  "Yes,  and  in 
bed;  but  has  left  particular  orders  that,  come  when  you 
will,  you  are  to  go  up  to  him  directly." 

"Bless  him,  for  a  worthy  and  honest  gentleman,"  cried 
our  applicant  for  the  vacant  post,  smilmg  and  nodding 
with  approbation  at  the  prime  minister's  kindness,  "  how 
punctual  his  grace  is;  I  knew  he  Avould  not  deceive  nie; 
let  me  hear  no  more  of  lords  and  dukes  not  keeping  their 
words ;  I  verily  believe  they  are  as  honest,  and  mean  as 
well  as  any  other  folks."  Having  ascended  the  stairs  as 
he  was  speaking,  he  was  ushered  into  the  Duke's  bed- 
chamber. 

"Is  he  dead?"  exclaimed  his  grace,  rubbing  his  eyes, 
and  scarcely  awakened  from  dreaming  of  the  King  of 
Spain,  "Is   he   dead?" 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  replied  the  eager  expectant,  delighted 
to  find  the  election  promise,  with  all  its  circumstances,  so 
fresh  in  the  nobleman's  memory, 

"When  did  he  die?" 

"The  day  before  yesterday,  exactly  at  half  paefc  one 
o'clock,  after   being  confined   thi'ee  weeks   to  his    bed,  and 

6.-»6. 


Q6  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

taking  a  poioer  of  doctor's  stuff;  and  I  hojie  your  grace  will 
be  as  good  as  your  word,  and  let  my  son-in-law  succeed 
him." 

The  Duke,  by  this  time  perfectly  awake,  was  stag- 
gered at  the  impossibility  of  receiving  intelligence  from 
Madrid  in  so  short  a  space  of  time;  and  perplexed  at  the 
absurdity  of  a  king's  messenger  applying  for  his  son-in-law 
to  succeed  the  King  of  Spain:  "Is  the  man  drunk,  or 
mad?  Where  are  your  dispatches?"  exclaimed  his  grace, 
hastily  drawing  back  his  curtain ;  where,  instead  of  a  royal 
courier,  he  recognized  at  the  bedside,  the  fat,  good-humored 
countenance  of  his  friend  from  Cornwall,  making  low  bows, 
with  hat  in  hand,  and  "hoping  my  lord  would  not  forget 
the  gracious  promise  he  was  so  good  as  to  make,  in  favor 
of  his  son-in-law,  at  the  last  election." 

Vexed  at  so  untimely  a  disturbance,  and  disappointed 
of  news  from  Spain,  the  Duke  frowned  for  a  moment ;  but 
chagrin  soon  gave  way  to  mirth,  at  so  singular  and  ridicu- 
lous a  combination  of  circumstances,  and,  yielding  to  the 
impulse,  he  sunk  upon  the  bed  in  a  violent  fit  of  laughter, 
which  Avas  communicated   in  a  moment  to  the  attendants. 

The  relater  of  this  little  narrative,  concludes,  with  ob- 
serving, "Although  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  could  not  place 
the  relative  of  his  old  acquaintance  on  the  throne  of  His 
Catholic  Majesty,  he  advanced  him  to  a  post  not  less  honor- 
able—  he  made  him  an  exciseman." 

— Blackwood 's  Maqazine. 

Notes. — Duke  of  Ne"W"castle. — Thomas  Holies  Pelham  (b. 
1693,  d.  1768),  one  of  the  chief  ministers  of  state  in  the  reign 
of  George  II.  of  England. 

Cornwall. — A  county  forming  the  extreme  southwestern 
part  of  England. 

King  of  Spain. — Ferdinand  VI.  was  then  the  king  of 
Spain.     He  died  in  1759. 

His  Catholic  Majesty,  a  title  applied  to  the  kings  of 
Spain;    first  given  to  Alfonso  I.  by  Pope  Gregory  III.  in  739. 


SIXTH  READER.  67 


II.    THE    NEEDLE. 

The  gay  belles  of  fashion  may  boast  of  excelling 

In  waltz  or  cotillon,  at  whist  or  quadrille ; 
And  seek  admiration  by  vauntingly  telling 

Of  drawing,  and  2)ainting,  and  musical  skill : 
But  give  me  the  fair  one,  in  country  or  city. 

Whose  home  and  its  duties  are  dear  to  her  heart. 
Who  cheerfully  warbles  some  rustical  ditty, 

While  plying  the  needle  with  exquisite  art: 
The  bright  little  needle,  the  swift-flying  needle, 

The  needle  directed  by  beauty  and  art. 

If  Love  have  a  i^otent,  a  magical  token, 

A  talisman,  ever  resistless  and  true, 
A  charm  that  is  never  evaded  or  broken, 

A  witchery  certain  the  heart  to  subdue, 
'  T  is  this ;  and  his  armory  never  has  furnished 

So  keen  and  unerring,  or  polished  a  dart ; 
Let  beauty  direct  it,  so  polished  and  burnished. 

And  oh!  it  is  certain  of  touching  the  heart: 
The  bright  little  needle,  the  swift-flying  needle, 

The  needle  directed  by  beauty  and  art. 

Be  wise,  then,  ye  maidens,  nor  seek  admiration, 

By  dressing  for  conquest,  and  flirting  with  all ; 
You  never,  whate'er  be  your  fortune  or  station, 

Appear  half  so  lovely  at  rout  or  at  ball. 
As  gayly  convened  at  the  work-covered  table, 

Each  cheerfully  active,  playing  her  j)art, 
Beguiling  the  task  with  a  song  or  a  fable, 

And  plying  the  needle  with  exquisite  art : 
The  bright  little  needle,  the  swift-flying  needle, 

The  needle  directed  by  beauty  and  art. 

— Samuel  Woodworth. 


68  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


III.    DAWN. 

Edward  Everett,  1794-18G5.  He  was  born  at  Dorchester,  Mass.,  now 
a  part  of  Boston,  and  graduated  from  Harvard  College  with  the  highest 
honors  of  his  class,  at  the  age  of  seventeen.  While  yet  in  college,  he 
had  quite  a  reputation  as  a  brilliant  writer.  Before  he  was  twenty 
yeai-s  of  age,  he  was  settled  as  pastor  over  the  Brattle  Street  Church,  in 
Boston,  and  at  once  became  famous  as  an  eloquent  preacher.  In  1814, 
he  was  elected  Professor  of  Greek  Literature  in  his  Alma  Muter;  and,  in 
order  to  prepare  himself  for  the  duties  of  his  ofHce,  he  entered  on  an 
extended  course  of  travel  in  Europe.  He  edited  the  "  North  American 
Review,"  in  addition  to  the  labors  of  his  professorship,  after  he  returned 
to  America. 

In  182.5,  Mr.  Everett  was  elected  to  Congress,  and  held  his  seat  in  the 
House  for  ten  years.  He  was  Governor  of  his  native  state  from  1835  to 
-1839.  In  1841,  he  was  appointed  Minister  to  England.  On  his  return,  in 
1846,  he  was  chosen  President  of  Harvard  University,  and  held  the 
office  for  three  years.  In  1852,  he  was  appointed  Secretary  of  State. 
February  22,  1856,  he  delivered,  in  Boston,  his  celebrated  lecture  on 
Washington.  This  lecture  was  afterwards  delivered  in  most  of  the  prin- 
cipal cities  and  towns  in  the  United  States.  The  proceeds  were  devoted 
to  the  purchase  of  Mt.  Vernon.  In  1800,  he  was  a  candidate  for  the 
Vice-presidency  of  the  United  States.  He  is  celebrated  as  an  elegant 
and  forcible  writer,  and  a  chaste  orator. 

This  extract,  a  wonderful  piece  of  word-painting,  is  a  portion  of  an 
address  on  the  "  Uses  of  Astronomy,"  delivered  at  the  inauguration  of 
the  Dudley  Observatory,  at  Albany,  N.  Y.  Note  the  careful  use  of 
words,  and  the  strong  figures  in  the  third  and  fourth  paragraphs. 

I  HAD  occasion,  a  few  weeks  siiice,  to  take  the  early 
train  from  Providence  to  Boston ;  and  for  this  purpose  rose 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Every  thing  around  was 
wrapped  in  darkness  and  hushed  in  silence,  broken  only 
by  what  seemed  at  that  hour  the  unearthly  clank  and 
rush  of  the  train.  It  was  a  mild,  serene,  midsummer's 
night, — the  sky  was  without  a  cloud,  the  winds  were  whist. 
The  moon,  then  ui  the  last  quarter,  had  just  risen,  and 
the  stars  shoiie  with  a  spectral  luster  but  little  affected  by 
her  presence. 

Jupiter,  two  hours  high,  was  the  herald  of  the  day ;  the 
Pleiades,  just  above  the  horizon,  shed  their  sweet  influ- 
ence in  the  east;  Lyra  sparkled  near  the  zenith;  Androm- 
eda veiled  her  newly-discovered  glories  from  the  naked  eye 
in   the  south;    the  steady  Pointers,   far  beneath    the  pole, 


SIXTH  BEADER.  69 

looked  meekly  up  from  the  depths  of  the  north  to  their 
sovereign. 

Such  Avas  the  glorious  spectacle  as  I  entered  the  train. 
As  we  i>roceeded,  the  timid  approach  of  twilight  became 
more  i^erceptible ;  the  intense  blue  of  the  sky  began  to 
soften;  the  smaller  stars,  like  little  children,  Avent  first  to 
rest;  the  sister-beams  of  the  Pleiades  soon  melted  together; 
but  the  bright  constellations  of  the  west  and  north  remained 
unchanged.  Steadily  the  wondrous  transfiguration  went  on. 
Hands  of  angels,  hidden  from  mortal  eyes,  shifted  the 
scenery  of  the  heavens;  the  glories  of  night  dissolved  into 
the  glories  of  the  dawn. 

The  blue  sky  now  turned  more  softly  gray;  the  great 
watch-stars  shut  up  their  holy  eyes;  the  east  began  to 
kindle.  Faint  streaks  of  purple  soon  blushed  along  the 
sky;  the  whole  celestial  concave  was  filled  with  the  inflow- 
ing tides  of  the  morning  light,  which  came  jDOuring  down 
from  above  in  one  great  ocean  of  radiance;  till  at  length, 
as  we  reached  the  Blue  Hills,  a  flash  of  purj)le  fire  blazed 
out  from  above  the  horizon,  and  turned  the  dewy  tear- 
drops of  flower  and  leaf  into  rubies  and  diamonds.  In  a 
few  seconds,  the  everlasting  gates  of  the  morning  were 
thrown  wide  open,  and  the  lord  of  day,  arrayed  in  glories 
too  severe  for  the  gaze  of  man,  began  his  state. 

I  do  not  wonder  at  the  superstition  of  the  ancient  Ma- 
gians,  Avho,  in  the  morning  of  the  world,  went  up  to  the 
hill-tops  of  Central  Asia,  and,  ignorant  of  the  true  God, 
adored  the  most  glorious  work  of  his  hand.  But  I  am 
filled  with  amazement,  when  I  am  told,  that,  in  this  en- 
lightened age  and  in  the  heart  of  the  Cliristian  world, 
there  are  persons  who  can  witness  this  daily  manifestation 
of  the  power  and  wisdom  of  the  Creator,  and  yet  say  in 
their  he'arts,  "There  is  no  God." 

Notes. —  Jupiter,  the  largest  planet  of  the  solar  system, 
and,  next  to  Venus,  the  brightest.  Pleiades  (pro.  ple'ya-dez), 
a  group   of  seven   small  stars   in   the  constellation  of  Taurus. 


70  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Lyra,  Androm'eda,  two  brilliant  constellations  in  the  north- 
ern part  of  the  heavens.  Pointers,  two  stars  of  the  group 
called  the  Dipper,  in  the  Great  Bear.  These  stars  and  the 
Polar  Star  are  nearly  in  the  same  straight  line. 

Blue  Hills,  hills  about  seven  hundred  feet  high,  southwest 
of  Boston,   Massachusetts. 

Magians,  Persian  worshipers  of  fire  and  the  sun,  as  rep- 
resentatives of  the  Supreme  Being. 


IV.    DESCRIPTION  OF  A  STORM. 

Benjamin  Disraeli,  1«U5-1881,  is  of  Jewi-sh  descent.  His  ancestors 
were  di-iven  out  of  Spain  by  the  Inquisition,  and  went  to  Venice.  In 
1748,  his  grandfatlier  came  to  England.  His  father  was  Isaac  Disraeli, 
well  known  as  a  literary  man.  Benjamin  was  born  in  London,  and 
received  his  early  education  under  his  father.  He  afterwards  studied 
for  a  lawyer,  but  soon  gave  up  his  profession  for  literature.  His  first 
novel,  "  Vivian  Grey,"  appeared  when  the  author  was  twenty-one  years 
of  age ;  it  received  much  attention.  After  .sevei'al  defeats  he  succeeded 
in  an  election  to  Parliament,  and  took  his  seat  in  that  body,  in  the 
first  year  of  Victoria's  reign.  On  his  first  attempt  to  speak  in  Parlia- 
ment, the  House  refused  to  hear  him.  It  is  said  that,  as  he  sat  down, 
he  remarked  that  the  time  would  come  when  they  would  hear  him. 
In  1849,  he  became  the  leader  of  the  Conservative  party  in  the  House. 
During  the  administration  of  W.  E.  Gladstone,  Mr.  Disraeli  was  leader 
of  the  opposition.  In  1868,  he  became  prime  minister,  holding  the  office 
for  a  short  time.  In  1874,  he  was  again  appointed  to  the  same  office, 
where  he  remained  until  1880.  His  wife  was  made  Viscountess  of  Bea- 
consfield  in  1868.  After  her  death,  the  title  of  Earl  of  Beaeousfield  was 
conferred  on  Disraeli.  He  ranked  among  the  most  eminent  statesmen 
of  the  age,  but  always  devoted  a  portion  of  his  time  to  literature. 
"  Lotliair,"  a  novel,  was  published  in   1870. 

*  *  *  They  looked  round  on  every  side,  and  hope 
gave  way  before  the  scene  of  desolation.  Immense  branches 
were  shivered  from  the  largest  trees;  small  ones  were  en- 
tirely stripped  of  their  leaves;  the  long  grass  was  bowed 
to  the  earth;  the  waters  were  whirled  in  eddies  out  of  the 
little  rivulets;  birds,  leaving  their  nests  to  seek  shelter  in 
the  crevices  of  the  rocks,  unable  to  stem  the  driving  air, 
flapped  their  wings  and  fell  upon  the  earth;  the  frightened 
animals  of  the  plain,  almost  suffocated  by  the  impetuosity 


SIXTH  READER.  71 

of  the  wind,  sought  safety  aud  found  destruction;  some  of 
the  largest  trees  were  torn  up  by  the  roots;  the  sluices  of 
the  mountains  were  filled,  and  innumerable  torrents  rushed 
down  the  before  empty  gullies.  The  heavens  now  open, 
and  the  lightning  aud  thunder  contend  with  the  horrors 
of  the  wind. 

In  a  moment,  all  was  again  hushed.  Dead  silence  suc- 
ceeded the  bellow  of  the  thunder,  the  roar  of  the  wind, 
the  rush  of  the  waters,  the  moaning  of  the  beasts,  the 
screaming  of  the  birds.  Nothing  was  heard  save  the  plash 
of  the  agitated  lake,  as  it  beat  up  agaiust  the  black  rocks 
which  girt  it  in. 

Again,  greater  darkness  enveloped  the  trembling  earth. 
Anon,  the  heavens  were  rent  with  lightning,  which  nothing 
could  have  quenched  but  the  descending  deluge.  Cataracts 
poured  down  from  the  lowering  firmament.  For  an  instant, 
the  horses  dashed  madly  forward;  beast  and  rider  blinded 
and  stifled  by  the  gushing  rain,  and  gasping  for  breath. 
Shelter  was  nowhere.  The  quivering  beasts  reared,  and 
snorted,  aud  sank  upon  their  knees,  dismounting  their 
riders. 

He  had  scarcely  spoken,  when  there  burst  forth  a  ter- 
rific noise,  they  knew  not  what;  a  rush,  they  could  not 
understand;  a  vibration  which  shook  them  on  their  horses. 
Every  terror  sank  before  the  roar  of  the  cataract.  It 
seemed  that  the  mighty  mountain,  unable  to  support  its 
weight  of  waters,  shook  to  the  foundation.  A  lake  had 
burst  upon  its  summit,  and  the  cataract  became  a  falling 
ocean.  The  source  of  the  great  deep  appeared  to  be 
discharging  itself  over  the  range  of  mountains;  the  great 
gray  peak  tottered  on  its  foundation! — It  shook! — it  fell! 
and  buried  in  its  ruins  the  castle,  the  village,  and  the 
bridffe ! 


72  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


V.    AFTER  THE   THUNDER-STORM. 

James  Thomson,  1700-1748,  the  son  of  a  clergyman,  was  born  in 
Scotland.  He  studied  at  the  University  of  Edinburgh,  and  intended  to 
follow  the  profession  of  his  father,  but  never  entered  upon  the  duties 
of  the  sacred  office.  In  1724  he  went  to  London,  where  he  spent  most 
of  his  subsequent  life.  He  had  shown  some  poetical  talent  when  a 
boy ;  and,  in  1826,  lie  published  "  Winter,"  a  part  of  a  longer  poem,  en- 
titled "The  Seasons,"  the  best-known  of  all  his  works.  He  also  wrote 
several  plays  for  the  stage;  none  of  tliem,  however,  achieved  any  great 
success.  In  the  last  year  of  his  life,  he  published  his  "  Castle  of  Indo- 
lence," the  most  famous  of  his  works  excepting  "  The  Seasons."  Thom- 
son was  heavy  and  dull  in  his  personal  appearance,  and  was  indolent 
in  his  habits.  The  moral  tone  of  his  writings  is  always  good.  This 
extract  is  from  "  The  Seasons." 

As  from  the  face  of  heaven  the  shattered  clouds 
Tumultuous  rove,  the  interminable  sky 
Sublimer  swells,  and  o'er  the  world  expands 
A  purer  azure. 

Through  the  lightened  air 
A  higher  luster  and  a  clearer  calm, 
Diffusive,  tremble;  while,  as  if  in  sign 
Of  danger  past,  a  glittering  robe  of  joy, 
Set  off  abundant  by  the  yellow  ray, 
Invests  the  fields;   and  nature  smiles  revived. 

'Tis  beauty  all,  and  grateful  song  around, 
Joined  to  the  low  of  kine,  and  numerous  bleat 
Of  flocks  thick-nibbling  through  the  clovered  vale: 
And  shall  the  hymn  be  marred  by  thankless  man, 
Most  favored;  who,  with  voice  articulate. 
Should  lead  the  chorus  of  this  lower  world? 

Shall  man,  so  soon  forgetful  of  the  Hand 
That  hushed  the  thunder,  and  serenes  tlie  sky. 
Extinguished  feel  that  spark  the  tempest  waked, 
That  sense  of  powers  exceeding  far  his  own, 
Ere  yet  his  feeble  heart  has  lost  its  fears? 


SIXTH  BEABEB.  73 


VI.    HOUSE-CLEANING. 

Francis  Hopkinson,  1737-1791.  He  was  the  son  of  an  Englishman; 
was  born  in  Philadelphia,  and  was  educated  at  the  college  of  that  city, 
now  the  University  of  Pennsylvania.  He  repi'eseuted  New  Jersey  in 
the  Congress  of  1776,  and  was  one  of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence.  He  was  one  of  the  most  sensible  and  elegant  writers 
of  his  time,  and  distinguished  himself  both  in  prose  and  verse.  His 
lighter  writings  abound  in  humor  and  keen  satire;  his  more  solid 
writings  are  marked  by  clearness  and  good  sense.  His  pen  did  much 
to  forward  the  cause  of  American  independence.  His  "  Essay  on  White- 
washing," from  which  the  following  extract  is  taken,  was  mistaken  for 
the  composition  of  Dr.  Franklin,  and  published  among  his  writings. 
It  was  originally  in  the  form  of  "A  Letter  from  a  Gentleman  in  America 
to  his  Friend  in  Europe,  on  Whitewashing." 

Tht;ee  is  no  season  of  the  year  in  which  the  lady  may 
not,  if  she  pleases,  claim  her  privilege;  but  the  latter  end 
of  May  is  generally  fixed  upon  for  the  purpose.  The  at- 
tentive husband  may  judge,  by  certain  prognostics,  when 
the  storm  is  at  hand.  If  the  lady  grows  uncommonly 
fretful,  finds  fault  with  the  servants,  is  discontented  with 
the  children,  and  complains  much  of  the  naetiness  of 
every  thing  about  her,  these  are  symptoms  which  ought 
not  to  be  neglected,  yet  they  sometimes  go  off"  without 
any  further  effect. 

But  if,  when  the  husband  rises  in  the  morning,  he 
should  observe  in  the  yard  a  wheel-barrow  with  a  quantity 
of  lime  in  it,  or  should  see  certain  buckets  filled  with  a 
solution  of  lime  in  water,  there  is  no  time  for  hesitation. 
He  immediately  locks  up  the  af)artment  or  closet  where 
his  papers  and  private  property  are  kept,  and,  putting  the 
key  in  his  pocket,  betakes  himself  to  flight.  A  husband, 
however  beloved,  becomes  a  perfect  nuisance  during  this 
season  of  female  rage.  His  authority  is  superseded,  his 
commission  suspended,  and  the  very  scullion  who  cleans 
the  brasses  in  the  kitchen  becomes  of  more  importance 
than  he.  He  has  nothing  for  it  but  to  abdicate  for  a 
time,  and  run  from  an  evil  which  he  can  neither  prevent 
nor  molHfy. 

6.-7. 


74  ECLECTIC  SEBIES. 

The  husband  gone,  the  ceremony  begins.  The  walls 
are  strip^Ded  of  their  furniture — paintings,  prints,  and  look- 
ing-glasses lie  huddled  in  heaps  about  the  floors;  the  cur- 
tains are  torn  from  their  testers,  the  beds  crammed  into 
windows,  chairs  and  tables,  bedsteads  and  cradles,  crowd 
the  yard,  and  the  garden  fence  bends  beneath  the  weight 
of  carpets,  blankets,  cloth  cloaks,  old  coats,  under  petti- 
coats, and  ragged  breeches.  Here  may  be  seen  the  lumber 
of  the  kitchen,  forming  a  dark  and  confused  mass  for  the 
foreground  of  the  picture ;  gridirons  and  frying-pans,  rusty 
shovels  and  broken  tongs,  joint  stools,  and  the  fractured 
remains  of  rush-bottomed  chairs.  There  a  closet  has  dis- 
gorged its  bowels — ^riveted  plates  and  dishes,  halves  of 
china  bowls,  cracked  tumblers,  broken  wine-glasses,  phials 
of  forgotten  physic,  papers  of  unknown  powders,  seeds  and 
dried  herbs,  tops  of  tea-pots,  and  stoppers  of  departed 
decanters — from  the  rag-hole  in  the  garret,  to  the  rat-hole 
in  the  cellar,  no  place  escapes  um-ummaged.  It  would 
seem  as  if  the  day  of  general  doom  had  come,  and  the 
utensils  of  the  house  were  dragged  forth  to  judgment. 

In  this  tempest,  the  words  of  King  Lear  unavoidably 
present  themselves,  and  might,  with  little  alteration,  be 
made  strictly  applicable. 

"  Let  the  great  gods, 
That  keep  this  dreadful  pother  o'er  our  heads, 
Find  out  their  enemies  now.    Tremble,  thou  wretch, 
That  hast  within  thee  undivulged  crimes 
Unwhipp'd  of  justice. 

Close  pent-up  guilts, 
Rive  j'^our  concealing  continents,  and  cry 
These  dreadful  summoners  grace." 

This  ceremony  completed,  and  the  house  thoroughly 
evacuated,  the  next  operation  is  to  smear  the  walls  and 
ceilings  with  brushes  dipped  into  a  solution  of  hme,  called 
whitewash;  to  pour  buckets  of  water  over  every  floor;  and 
scratch  all  the  partitions  and  wainscots  with  hard  brushes, 
charged  with  soft-soap  and  stone-cutters'  sand. 


SIXTH  READER.  '  15 

The  windows  by  no  means  escape  the  general  deluge. 
A  servant  scrambles  out  upon  the  pent-house,  at  the  risk 
of  her  neck,  and,  with  a  mug  in  her  hand  and  a  bucket 
within  reach,  dashes  innumerable  gallons  of  water  against 
the  glass  j^anes,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  passengers  in 
the  street. 

I  have  been  told  that  an  action  at  law  Avas  once 
brought  against  one  of  these  water  nymphs,  by  a  person 
who  had  a  new  suit  of  clothes  spoiled  by  this  operation : 
but  after  long  argument,  it  was  determined  that  no  dam- 
ages coidd  be  awarded ;  inasmuch  as  the  defendant  was  in 
the  exercise  of  a  legal  right,  and  not  answerable  for  the 
consequences.  And  so  the  poor  gentleman  was  doubly  non- 
suited ;  for  he  lost  both  his  suit  of  clothes  and  his  suit  at 
law. 

These  smearings  and  scratchings,  these  washings  and 
dashings,  being  duly  performed,  the  next  ceremonial  is  to 
cleanse  and  replace  the  distracted  furniture.  You  may 
have  seen  a  house-raising,  or  a-  ship  launch  —  recollect, 
if  you  can,  the  hurry,  bustle,  confusion,  and  noise  of 
such  a  scene,  and  you  will  have  some  idea  of  this  cleans- 
ing match.  The  misfortune  is,  that  the  sole  object  is  to 
make  things  clean.  It  matters  not  how  many  useful,  or- 
namental, or  valuable  articles  suffer  mutilation  or  death 
under  the  operation.  A  mahogany  chair  and  a  carved 
frame  undergo  the  same  discipline;  they  are  to  be  made 
clean  at  all  events;  but  their  preservation  is  not  worthy 
of  attention. 

For  instance:  a  fine  large  engraving  is  laid  flat  upon 
the  floor ;  a  number  of  smaller  j^rints  are  piled  upon  it, 
until  the  superincumbent  weight  cracks  the  lower  glass^ — 
but  this  is  of  no  importance.  A  valuable  picture  is  placed 
leaning  against  the  sharp  corner  of  a  table ;  others  are 
made  to  lean  against  that,  till  the  pressure  of  the  whole 
forces  the  corner  of  the  table  through  the  canvas  of  the 
first.      The    frame    and    glass    of  a    fine    print    are    to    be 


76  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

cleaned ;  the  spirit  and  oil  used  on  this  occasion  are  suf- 
fered to  leak  through  and  deface  the  engraving — no  matter, 
li  the  glass  is  clean  and  the  frame  shines,  it  is  suflBcient — 
the  rest  is  not  worthy  of  consideration  An  able  arithme- 
tician hath  made  a  calculation,  founded  on  long  experi- 
ence, and  proved  that  the  losses  and  destruction  incident 
to  two  whitewashings  are  equal  to  one  removal,  and  three 
removals  equal  to  one  fire. 

This  cleansing  frolic  over,  matters  begin  to  resume  their 
pristine  appearance :  the  storm  abates,  and  all  would  be 
well  again:  but  it  is  impossible  that  so  great  a  convul- 
sion in  so  small  a  community  should  pass  over  without 
producing  some  consequences.  For  two  or  three  weeks 
after  the  operation,  the  fiimily  are  usually  afflicted  with 
sore  eyes,  sore  throats,  or  severe  colds,  occasioned  by  ex- 
halations from  wet  floors  and  damp  walls. 

I  know  a  gentleman,  here,  who  is  fond  of  accounting 
for  every  thing  in  a  philosophical  way.  He  considers  this, 
what  I  call  a  custom,  as  a  real  periodical  disease  peculiar 
to  the  climate.  His  train  of  reasoning  is  whimsical  and 
ingenious,  but  I  am  not  at  leisure  to  give  you  the  detail. 
The  result  was,  that  he  found  the  distemper  to  be  incur- 
able ;  but  after  much  study,  he  thought  he  had  discovered 
a  method  to  divert  the  evil  he  could  not  subdue.  For 
this  purpose,  he  caused  a  small  building,  about  twelve  feet 
square,  to  be  erected  in  his  garden,  and  furnished  with 
some  ordinary  chairs  and  tables,  and  a  few  prints  of  the 
cheapest  sort.  His  hope  was,  that  when  the  whitewashing 
frenzy  seized  the  females  of  his  family,  they  might  repair 
to  this  apartment,  and  scrub,  and  scour,  and  smear  to 
their  hearts'  content ;  and  so  spend  the  violence  of  the 
disease  in  this  outpost,  whilst  he  enjoyed  himself  in  quiet 
at  headquarters.  But  the  experiment  did  not  answer  his 
expectation.  It  was  impossible  it  should,  since  a  principal 
part  of  the  gratification  consists  in  the  lady's  having  an 
uncontrolled   right   to   torment   her  husband    at  least   once 


SIXTH  BEADER.  77 

in  every  year;  to  turn  him  out  of  doors,  and  take  the 
reins  of  government  into  her  own  hands. 

There  is  a  much  better  contrivance  than  this  of  the 
philosopher's;  Avhicli  is,  to  cover  the  walls  of  the  house 
with  paper.  This  is  generally  done.  And  though  it  does 
not  abolish,  it  at  least  shortens  the  jieriod  of  female  do- 
minion. This  paper  is  decorated  with  various  fancies;  and 
made  so  ornamental  that  the  W'omen  have  admitted  the 
fashion  without  perceiving  the  design. 

There  is  also  another  alleviation  to  the  husband's  dis- 
tres;^  He  generally  has  the  sole  use  of  a  small  room 
or  closet  for  his  books  and  papers,  the  key  of  which  he 
is  alloAved  to  keep.  This  is  considered  as  a  privileged 
place,  even  in  the  whitewashing  season,  and  stands  like 
the  land  of  Goshen  amidst  the  plagues  of  Egypt.  But 
then  he  must  be  extremely  cautious,  and  ever  upon  his 
guard ;  for,  should  he  inadvertently  go  abroad  and  leave 
the  key  in  his  door,  the  house-maid,  who  is  always  on 
the  watch  for  such  an  opportunity,  immediately  enters  in 
triumph,  with  buckets,  brooms,  and  brushes — takes  posses- 
sion of  the  premises,  and  forthwith  puts  all  his  books  and 
papers  "  to  rights,"  to  his  utter  confusion,  and  sometimes 
serious  detriment. 


Notes. — Lear. — The  reference  is  to  Shakespeare's  tragedy, 
Act  III,  Scene  2. 

Groshen. — The  joovtion  of  E^jqot  settled  by  Jacob  and  his 
family.  In  the  Bible,  Exodus  viii,  22,  Goshen  was  exempted 
from  the  plague  of  the  flies. 

The  teacher  should  ascertain  that  the  pupils  note  the  satire 
and  humor  of  this  selection. 

This  letter  was  written  about  a  hundred  years  ago.  What 
word  in  the  first  paragraph  that  would  probably  not  be  used 
by  an  elegant  writer  of  the  jjresent  day?  Note  the  words  that 
indicate  changes  in  domestic  customs;  such  as  testers,  joint 
stools,  wainscots,   house-raising. 


78  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


VII.    SCHEMES   OF   LIFE  OFTEN   ILLUSORY. 

Samuel  Johnson,  1709-1784.  This  truly  remarkable  man  was  the 
Bon  of  a  book-seller  and  stationer;  he  was  born  in  Lichfield,  Stafford- 
shire, England.  He  entered  Pembroke  College,  Oxford,  in  1728;  but,  at 
the  end  of  three  years,  his  poverty  compelled  him  to  leave  without  tak- 
ing his  degree.  In  1736,  he  married  Mrs.  Porter,  a  widow  of  little  cult- 
ure, much  older  than  himself,  but  possessed  of  some  property.  The 
niarrlage  seems  to  have  been  a  happy  one,  nevertheless;  and,  on  the 
death  of  his  wife,  in  1752;  Johnson  mourned  for  her  most  sincerely. 
Soon  after  his  marriage,  he  opened  a  private  school,  but  obtained  only 
three  pupils,  one  of  whom  was  David  Garrick,  afterward  the  celebrated 
actor.  In  1737,  he  removed  to  London,  where  he  lived  for  most  of  the 
remainder  of  his  life.  Here  he  entered  upon  literary  work,  in  which  he 
continued,  and  from  which  he  derived  his  chief  support,  altliough  at 
times  it  was  but  a  meager  one.  His  "  Vanity  of  Human  "Wishes  "  was 
sold  for  ten  guineas.  His  great  Dictionary,  the  first  one  of  the  English 
language  worthy  of  mention,  brought  him  £1575,  and  occupied  his  time 
for  seven  years.  !Most  of  the  money  he  received  for  the  work  went  to 
pay  his  six  amanuenses.  The  otiier  most  famous  of  his  numerous  lit- 
erary works  are  "  The  Rambler,"  "  Ra.sselas,"  "  Tlic  Lives  of  tlie  English 
Poets,'"  rmd  his  edition  of  Shakespeare.  In  pei"son,  Johnson  wius  heavy 
and  awkward ;  he  was  the  victim  of  scrofula  in  his  youth,  and  of 
dropsy  in  his  old  age.  In  manner,  he  was  boorish  and  overbearing; 
but  his  great  powers  and  his  wisdom  caused  his  company  to  be  sought 
by  many  eminent  men  of  his  time. 

Omak,  the  son  of  Hassan,  had  passed  seventy-five  years 
in  honor  and  j^rosperity.  The  favor  of  three  successive 
caliplis  had  filled  his  house  with  gold  and  silver;  and 
whenever  he  appeared,  the  benedictions  of  the  peojjle  pro- 
claimed  his  passage. 

Terrestrial  hapj^iness  is  of  short  continuance.  The  bright- 
ness of  the  flame  is  wasting  its  fuel;  the  fragi'ant  flower 
is  passing  away  in  its  own  odors.  The  vigor  of  Omar 
began  to  fail ;  the  curls  of  beauty  fell  from  his  head ; 
strength  departed  from  his  hands,  and  agility  from  his 
feet.  He  gave  back  to  the  caliph  the  keys  of  trust,  and 
the  seals  of  secrecy;  and  sought  no  other  pleasure  for 
the  remainder  of  life  than  the  converse  of  the  wise  and 
the  gratitude  of  the  good. 

The  powers  of  his  mind  were  yet  unimpaired.  His  cham- 
ber was  filled   by  visitants,  eager  to  catch    the  dictates  of 


SIXTH  READER.  79 

experience,  and  officious  to  pay  the  tribute  of  admiration. 
Caleb,  the  son  of  the  viceroy  of  Egypt,  entered  every  day 
early,  and  retired  late.  He  was  beautiful  and  eloquent: 
Omar  admired  his  wit,  and  loved  his  docility. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Caleb,  "thou  to  whose  voice  na.tions 
have  listened,  and  whose  wisdom  is  known  to  the  extremi- 
ties of  Asia,  tell  me  how  I  may  resemble  Omar  the 
prudent?  The  arts  by  which  thou  hast  gained  power  and 
preserved  it,  are  to  thee  no  longer  necessary  or  useful; 
im2)art  to  me  the  secret  of  thy  conduct,  and  teach  me  the 
plan  upon  which  thy  wisdom  has  built  thy  fortune." 

"Young  man,"  said  Omar,  "it  is  of  little  use  to  form 
plans  of  life.  When  I  took  my  first  survey  of  the  world, 
in  my  twentieth  year,  having  considered  the  various  condi- 
tions of  mankind,  in  the  hour  of  solitude  I  said  thus  to 
myself,  leaning  against  a  cedar  which  spread  its  branches 
over  my  head :  '  Seventy  years  are  allowed  to  man ;  I 
have  yet  fifty  remaining. 

"'Ten  years  I  will  allot  to  the  attainment  of  knowl- 
edge, and  ten  I  will  jiass  in  foreign  countries;  I  shall  be 
learned,  and  therefore  I  shall  be  honored;  every  city  will 
shout  at  my  arrival,  and  every  student  will  solicit  my 
friendshi]).  Twenty  years  thus  passed  will  store  my  mind 
with  images  Avhich  I  shall  be  busy  through  the  rest  of 
my  life  in  combining  and  comparing.  I  shall  revel  in 
inexhaustible  accumulations  of  intellectual  riches;  I  shall 
find  new  j)leasures  for  every  moment,  and  shall  never 
more  be  weary  of  myself. 

"'I  will  not,  however,  deviate  too  far  from  the  beaten 
track  of  life;  but  will  try  what  can  be  found  in  female 
delicacy.  I  will  marry  a  Avife  as  beautiful  as  the  houries, 
and  wise  as  Zobeide ;  and  Avith  her  I  will  live  twenty 
years  within  the  suburbs  of  Bagdad,  in  every  pleasure  that 
wealth  can  purchase,  and  fancy  can  invent. 

"'I  will  then  retire  to  a  rural  dwelling,  pass  my  days 
in   obscurity    and    contemplation ;    and    lie    silently    down 


80  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

on  the  bed  of  death.  Through  my  life  it  shall  he  my 
settled  resolution,  that  I  will  never  depend  on  the  smile 
of  princes;  that  I  Avill  never  stand  exposed  to  the  artifices 
of  courts;  I  will  never  pant  for  public  honors,  nor  disturb 
my  quiet  with  the  affairs  of  state.'  Such  was  my  scheme 
of  life,  which  I  impressed  indelibly  upon  my  memory. 

"The  first  part  of  my  ensuing  time  was  to  be  spent 
in  search  of  knowledge,  and  I  know  not  how  I  was 
diverted  from  my  design.  I  had  no  visible  impediments 
without,  nor  any  ungovernable  passion  within.  I  regarded 
knowledge  as  the  highest  honor,  and  the  most  engaging 
pleasure;  yet  day  stole  upon  day,  and  month  glided  after 
month,  till  I  found  that  seven  years  of  the  first  ten  had 
vanished,  and  left  nothing  behind  them. 

"I  now  postponed  my  purpose  of  traveling;  for  why 
should  I  go  abroad,  while  so  much  remained  to  be  learned 
at  home?  I  immured  myself  for  four  years,  and  studied 
the  laws  of  the  empire.  The  fame  of  my  skill  reached 
the  judges:  I  was  found  able  to  speak  upon  doubtful  ques- 
tions, and  I  was  commanded  to  stand  at  the  footstool  of  the 
caliph.  I  was  heard  with  attention;  I  was  consulted  with 
confidence,  and  the  love  of  praise  fastened  on  my  heart. 

* '  I  still  wished  to  see  distant  countries ;  listened  with 
rapture  to  the  relations  of  travelers,  and  resolved  some 
time  to  ask  my  dismission,  that  I  might  feast  my  soul 
with  novelty;  but  my  presence  was  always  necessary,  and 
the  stream  of  business  hurried  me  along.  Sometimes,  I 
was  afraid  lest  I  should  be  charged  with  ingratitude ; 
but  I  still  proposed  to  travel,  and  therefore  would  not 
confine  myself  by  marriage. 

"  In  my  fiftieth  year,  I  began  to  suspect  that  the  time 
of  my  traveling  was  past;  and  thought  it  best  to  lay  hold 
on  the  felicity  yet  in  my  power,  and  indulge  myself  in 
domestic  pleasures.  But,  at  fifty,  no  man  easily  finds  a 
woman  beautiful  as  the  houries,  and  wise  as  Zobeide.  I 
inquired   and  rejected,  consulted  and   deUberated,  tiD   the 


SIXTH  READER.  81 

sixty-second  year  made  me  ashamed  of  wishing  to  marry. 
I  had  now  nothing  left  but  retirement;  and  for  retirement 
I  never  found  a  time,  till  disease  forced  me  from  public 
employment. 

"Such  was  my  scheme,  and  such  has  been  its  con- 
sequence. With  an  insatiable  thirst  for  knowledge,  I 
trifled  away  the  years  of  improvement;  Avith  a  restless 
desire  of  seeing  different  countries,  I  have  always  resided 
in  the  same  city;  with  the  highest  expectation  of  connu- 
bial felicity,  I  have  lived  unmarried ;  and  with  an  unalter- 
able resolution  of  contemplative  retirement,  I  am  going  to 
die  within  the  walls  of  Bagdad." 

Notes. — Baghdad. — A  large  city  of  Asiatic  Turkey,  on  the 
river  Tigris.  In  the  nintli  century,  it  was  the  greatest  center 
of  Moslem  power  and  learning. 

Zobeide  (Zo-bad^). — A  lady  of  Bagdad,  whose  story  is  given 
in  the  "Three  Calendars"  of  the  "Arabian  Nights." 

In  this  selection  the  form  of  an  allegory  is  used  to  express 
a  general  truth. 


VIII.   THE  BRAVE   OLD   OAK. 

Henry  Fothergill  Chorley,  1S08-1872.  He  is  known  chiefly  as  a 
masical  critic  and  autlior ;  for  tliirty-eiglit  years  lie  was  connected  witti 
the   'London  Atlienceum."    His  boolis  are  mostly  novels. 

« 

A  SONG  to  the  oak,  the  brave  old  oak. 

Who  hath  ruled  in  the  greenwood  long; 
Here 's  health  and  renown  to  his  broad  green  crown, 

And  his  fifty  arms  so  strong. 
There's  fear  in  his  frown,  when  the  sun  goes  down. 

And  the  fire  in  the  west  fades  out; 
And  he  showeth  his  might  on  a  wild  midnight, 

When  the  storms  through  his  branches  shout. 


82  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

lu  the  days  of  old,  when  the  spring  with  cold 

Had  brightened  his  branches  gray, 
Through  the  grass  at  his  feet,  crept  maidens  sweet. 

To  gather  the  dews  of  May. 
And  on  that  day,  to  the  rebec  gay 

They  frolicked  with  lovesome  swains; 
They  are  gone,  they  are  dead,  in  the  church-yard  laid, 

But  the  ti'ee  —  it  still  remains. 

He  saw  rare  times  Avhen  the  Christmas  chimes 

Were  a  merry  sound  to  hear, 
When  the  Squire's  wide  hall  and  the  cottage  small 

Were  filled  with  good  English  cheer. 
Now  gold  hath  the  sway  we  all  obey, 

And  a  ruthless  king  is  he; 
But  he  never  shall  send  our  ancient  friend 

To  be  tossed  on  the  stormy  sea. 

Then  here 's  to  the  oak,  the  brave  old  oak, 

Who  stands  in  his  pride  alone; 
And  still  flourish  he,  a  hale  green  tree. 

When  a  hundred  years  are  gone. 


rX.   THE  ARTIST   SURPRISED. 

It  may  not  be  known  to  all  the  admirers  of  the  genius 
of  Albert  Diirer,  that  that  famous  engraver  was  endowed 
with  a  "  better  half,"  so  peevish  in  temper,  that  she  was 
the  torment  not  only  of  his  own  life,  but  also  of  his  pupils 
and  domestics.  Some  of  the  former  were  cimning  enough 
to  purchase  peace  for  themselves  by  conciliating  the  com- 
mon tyrant,  but  woe  to  those  unwilling  or  unable  to  ofler 
aught  in  propitiation.  Even  the  wiser  ones  were  spared 
only  by  having  their  offenses  visited  upon  a  scape-goat. 


SIXTH  READER.  83 

This  unfortunate  individual  was  Samuel  Duhobret,  a 
disciple  whom  Diirer  had  admitted  into  his  school  out  of 
charity.  He  was  employed  in  painting  signs  and  the 
coarser  tajDestry  then  used  in  Germany.  He  was  about 
forty  years  of  age,  little,  ugly,  and  humpbacked;  he  was 
the  butt  of  every  ill  joke  among  his  fellow  disciples,  and 
was  picked  out  as  an  object  of  especial  dislike  by  Madame 
Diirer.  But  he  bore  all  with  patience,  and  ate,  without 
complaint,  the  scanty  crusts  given  him  every  day  for 
dinner,  while  his  companions  often  fared  sumptuously. 

Poor  Samuel  had  not  a  spice  of  envy  or  malice  in 
his  heart.  He  would,  at  any  time,  have  toiled  half  the 
night  to  assist  or  serve  those  who  were  Avont  oftenest  to 
laugh  at  him,  or  abuse  him  loudest  for  his  stupidity. 
True,  he  had  not  the  qualities  of  social  humor  or  wit,  but 
he  was  an  example  of  indefatigable  industry.  He  came  to 
his  studies  every  morning  at  day-break,  and  remained  at 
work  until  sunset.  Then  he  retired  into  his  lonely  cham- 
ber, and  wrought  for  his  own  amusement. 

Duhobret  labored  three  years  in  this  w^ay,  giving  him- 
self no  time  for  exercise  or  recreation.  He  said  nothing 
to  a  single  human  being  of  the  paintings  he  had  pro- 
duced in  the  solitude  of  his  cell,  by  the  light  of  his  lamp. 
But  his  bodily  energies  wasted  and  declined  under  inces- 
sant toil.  There  was  none  sufficiently  interested  in  the 
poor  artist,  to  mark  the  feverish  hue  of  his  wrinkled 
cheek,  or  the  increasing  attenuation  of  his  misshapen 
frame. 

None  observed  that  the  uninviting  pittance  set  aside 
for  his  midday  repast,  remained  for  several  days  untouched. 
Samuel  made  his  appearance  regularly  as  ever,  and  bore 
W'ith  the  same  meekness  the  gibes  of  his  fellow-pupils,  or 
the  taunts  of  Madame  Diirer,  and  worked  with  the  same 
untiring  assiduity,  though  his  hands  would  sometimes  trem- 
ble, and  his  eyes  become  suffused,  a  w^eakness  probably 
owing  to  the  excessive  use  he  had  made  of  them. 


84  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

One  morning,  Duhobret  was  missing  at  tlie  scene  of 
his  daily  labors.  His  absence  created  much  remark,  and 
many  were  the  jokes  passed  upon  the  occasion.  One  sur- 
mised this,  and  another  that,  as  the  cause  of  the  phenom- 
enon; and  it  was  finally  agreed  that  the  poor  fellow  must 
have  worked  himself  into  an  absolute  skeleton,  and  taken 
his  final  stand  in  the  glass  frame  of  some  apothecary,  or 
been  blown  away  by  a  puflf  of  wind,  while  his  door  hap- 
pened to  stand  open.  No  one  thought  of  going  to  his 
lodgings  to  look  after  him  or  his  remains. 

Meanwhile,  the  object  of  their  mirth  was  tossing  on 
a  bed  of  sickness.  Disease,  which  had  been  slowly  sapping 
the  foundations  of  his  strength,  l)urned  in  every  vein;  his 
eyes  rolled  and  flashed  in  delirium ;  his  lips,  usually  so 
silent,  muttered  wild  and  incoherent  words.  In  his  days 
of  health,  poor  Duhobret  had  his  dreams,  as  all  artists, 
rich  or  poor,  will  sometimes  have.  He  had  thought  that 
the  fruit  of  many  years'  labor,  disposed  of  to  advantage, 
might  procure  him  enough  to  live,  in  an  economical  way, 
for  the  rest  of  his  life.  He  never  anticipated  fame  or  fort- 
une; the  height  of  his  ambition  or  hope  was,  to  possess  a 
tenement  large  enough  to  shelter  him  from  the  inclemen- 
cies of  the  weather,  with  means  enough  to  purchase  one 
comfortable  meal  per  day. 

Now,  alas!  however,  even  that  one  hope  had  deserted 
him.  He  thought  himself  dying,  and  thought  it  hard  to 
die  without  one  to  look  kindly  upon  him,  without  the 
words  of  comfort  that  might  soothe  his  passage  to  another 
world.  He  fancied  his  bed  surrounded  by  fiendish  faces, 
grinning  at  his  sufferings,  and  taunting  his  inability  to 
summon  power  to  disperse  them.  At  length  the  appari- 
tion faded  away,  and  the  patient  sunk  into  an  exliausted 
slumber. 

He  aAvoke  unrefreshed ;  it  was  the  fifth  day  he  had 
lain  there  neglected.  His  mouth  Avas  parched ;  he  turned 
over,  and  feebly  stretched  out  his  hand  toward  the  earthen 


SIXTH  READER.  85 

pitcher,  from  which,  since  the  first  day  of  his  illness,  he 
had  quenched  his  thirst.  Alas !  it  was  empty !  Samuel 
lay  for  a  few  moments  thinking  what  he  should  do.  He 
knew  he  must  die  of  want  if  he  remained  there  alone;  but 
to  whom   could   he  apply  for  aid? 

An  idea  seemed,  at  last,  to  strike  him.  He  arose  slowly, 
and  with  difficulty,  from  the  bed,  w^ent  to  the  other  side 
of  the  room,  and  took  up  the  picture  he  had  painted  last. 
He  resolved  to  carry  it  to  the  shop  of  a  salesman,  and 
hoped  to  obtain  for  it  sufficient  to  furnish  him  with  the 
necessaries  of  life  for  a  Aveek  longer.  Desjiair  lent  him 
•strength  to  walk,  and  to  carry  his  burden.  On  his  way, 
he  passed  a  house,  about  which  there  was  a  crowd.  He 
drew  nigh,  asked  what  was  going  on,  and  received  for  an 
answer,  that  there  was  to  be  a  sale  of  many  specimens  of 
art,  collected  by  an  amateur  in  the  course  of  thirty  years. 
It  has  often  happened  that  collections  made  with  infinite 
pains  by  the  proprietor,  have  been  sold  without  mercy  or 
discrimination  after  his  death. 

Something  whispered  to  the  weary  Duhobret,  that  here 
would  be  the  market  for  his  picture.  It  was  a  long 
way  yet  to  the  house  of  the  picture-dealer,  and  he  made 
up  his  mind  at  once.  He  worked  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  dragged  himself  up  the  steps,  and,  after  many  in- 
quiries, found  the  auctioneer.  That  personage  was  a  busy 
man,  with  a  handful  of  papers ;  he  was  inclined  to  notice 
somewhat  roughly  the  interruj^tion  of  the  lean,  sallow 
hunchback,  imploring  as  were  his  gesture  and  language. 

"What  do  you  call  your  picture?"  at  length,  said  he, 
carefully  looking  at  it. 

"It  is  a  view  of  the  Abbey  of  Newburg,  with  its  vil- 
lage and  the  surrounding  landscape,"  replied  the  eager 
and  trembling  artist. 

The  auctioneer  again  scanned  it  contemptuously,  and 
asked  what  it  was  Avorth.  "Oh,  that  is  what  you  please; 
whatever  it  will  bring,"  answered  Duhobret. 


86  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

"Hem!  it  is  too  odd  to  please,  I  should  think;  I  can 
promise  you  no  more  than  three  thalers." 

Poor  Samuel  sighed  deeply.  He  had  spent  on  that 
piece  the  nights  of  many  months.  But  he  Avas  starving 
now;  and  the  pitiful  sum  offered  would  give  bread  for  a 
few  days.  He  nodded  his  head  to  the  auctioneer,  and 
retiring  took  his  seat  in  a  corner. 

The  sale  began.  After  some  paintings  and  engravings 
had  been  disposed  of,  Samuel's  was  exhibited.  "Who  bids 
at  three  thalers?  Who  bids?'"  was  the  cry.  Duhobret 
listened  eagerly,  but  none  answered.  "Will  it  find  a 
purchaser?"  said  he  despondingly,  to  himself.  Still  there, 
was  a  dead  silence.  He  dared  not  look  up;  for  it  seemed 
to  him  that  all  the  peoj)le  Avere  laughing  at  the  folly  of 
the  artist,  who  could  be  insane  enough  to  offer  so  worth- 
less a  piece  at  a  public  sale. 

"What  will  become  of  me?"  Avas  his  mental  inquiry. 
"That  Avork  is  certainly  my  best;"  and  he  A^entured  to 
steal  another  glance.  "Does  it  not  seem  that  the  Avind 
actually  stirs  those  boughs  and  moA^es  those  leaves!  How 
transparent  is  the  Avater!  What  life  breathes  in  the  ani- 
mals that  quench  their  thirst  at  that  spring!  Hoav  that 
steeple  shines!  How  beautiful  are  those  clustering  trees!" 
This  Avas  the  last  expiring  throb  of  an  artist's  vanity. 
The  ominous  silence  continued,  and  Samuel,  sick  at  heart, 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  Twenty-one  thalers ! "  murmured  a  faint  voice,  just 
as  the  auctioneer  AA'as  about  to  knock  doAvn  the  picture. 
The  stupefied  painter  gaA^e  a  start  of  joy.  He  raised  his 
head  and  looked  to  see  from  Avhose  lips  those  blessed 
words  had  come.  It  AA'as  the  picture-dealer,  to  Avhom  he 
had  first  thought  of  applying. 

"  Fifty  thalers,"  cried  a  sonorous  voice.  This  time  a 
tall  man  in  black  Avas  the  speaker.  There  Avas  a  silence 
of  hushed  expectation.  "One  hundred  thalers,"  at  length 
thundered  the  picture-dealer. 


SIXTH  EEADER.  87 

' '  Three  hundred ! "  "  Five  hundred ! "  "  One  thousand ! " 
Another  profound  silence,  and  the  crowd  pressed  around 
the  two  opponents,  who  stood  opposite  each  other  with 
eager  and  angry  looks. 

"Two  thousand  thalers!"  cried  the  picture-dealer,  and 
glanced  around  him  triumphantly,  when  he  saw  his  adver- 
sary hesitate.  "Ten  thousand!"  vociferated  the  tall  man, 
his  face  crimson  with  rage,  and  his  hands  clinched  con- 
vulsively. The  dealer  grew  paler;  his  frame  shook  with 
agitation;  he  made  two  or  three  efforts,  and  at  last  cried 
out  "Twenty  thousand!"    ^^ 

His  tall  opponent  was  not  to  be  vanquished.  He  bid 
forty  thousand.  The  dealer  stopped;  the  other  laughed  a 
low  laugh  of  insolent  triumph,  and  a  murmur  of  admiration 
was  heard  in  the  crowd.  It  was  too  much  for  the  dealer; 
he  felt  his  peace  was  at  stake.  ' '  Fifty  thousand ! "  ex- 
claimed he  in  desperation.  It  was  the  tall  man's  turn  to 
hesitate.  Again  the  whole  crowd  were  breathless.  At 
length,  tossing  his  arms  in  defiance,  he  shouted  "  One 
hundred  thousand!"  The  crest-fallen  picture-dealer  with- 
drew;   the  tall  man  victoriously  bore  away  the  prize. 

How  was  it,  meanwhile,  with  Duhobret,  while  this  ex- 
citing scene  was  going  on  ?  He  was  hardly  master  of  his 
senses.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  repeatedly,  and  murmured  to 
himself,  "After  such  a  dream,  my  misery  will  seem  more 
cruel ! "  AVTien  the  contest  ceased,  he  rose  uj)  bewildered, 
and  w^eut  about  asking  first  one,  then  another,  the  price 
of  the  picture  just  sold.  It  seemed  that  his  apprehension 
could  not  at  once  be  enlarged  to  so  vast  a  conception. 

The  possessor  was  proceeding  homeward,  when  a  decrepit, 
lame,  and  humpbacked  invalid,  tottering  along  by  the  aid 
of  a  stick,  presented  himself  before  him.  He  threw  him 
a  piece  of  money,  and  waved  his  hand  as  dispensing  with 
his  thanks.  "May  it  please  your  honor,"  said  the  supposed 
beggar,  "I  am  the  painter  of  that  picture!"  and  again  hf 
rubbed  his  eyes. 


88  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

The  tall  man  was  Count  Dunkelsback,  one  of  the  richest 
noblemen  in  Germany.  He  stojDped,  took  out  his  pocket- 
book,  tore  out  a  leaf,  and  wrote  on  it  a  few  lines.  "Take  it, 
friend,"  said  he;   "it  is  a  check  for  your  money.     Adieu." 

Duhobret  finally  persuaded  himself  that  it  was  not  a 
dream.  He  became  the  master  of  a  castle,  sold  it,  and 
resolved  to  live  luxuriously  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  and  to 
cultivate  painting  as  a  pastime.  But,  alas,  for  the  vanity 
of  human  expectation!  He  had  borne  privation  and  toil; 
prosperity  was  too  much  for  him,  as  was  proved  soon  after, 
when  an  indigestion  carried  him  off.  His  picture  remained 
long  in  the  cabinet  of  Count  Dunkelsback,  and  afterward 
passed  into  the  possession  of  the  King  of  Bavaria. 

Notes. — Albert  Diirer  (b.  1471,  d.  1528)  lived  at  Nurem- 
burg,  Germany.  He  was  eminent  as  a  painter,  and  as  an 
engraver  on  copper  and  wood.  He  was  one  of  the  first  artists 
who  studied  anatomy  and  perspective.  His  influence  on  art  is 
clearly  felt  even  at  the  j^resent  day. 

Ne'wburg',  or  Neuburg,  is  on  the  Danube,  fifty  miles  south 
of  Nuremburg.     Bergen  Abbey  was   north   of  the  village. 


X.  PICTURES    OF   MEMORY. 

Alice  Gary,  1820-1871,  was  born  near  Cincinnati.  One  of  her  ancestors 
was  among  the  "  Pilgrim  Fathers,"  and  the  first  instructor  of  Latin  at 
Plymouth,  Mass.  Miss  Gary  commenced  her  literary  career  at  her 
western  home,  and,  in  1849,  published  a  volume  of  poems,  the  joint 
work  of  her  younger  sister,  Phoebe,  and  herself,  in  1850,  she  moved  to 
New  York.  Two  of  her  sisters  joined  her  there,  and  they  supported 
themselves  by  tlieir  literary  labor.  Their  home  became  a  noted  resort 
for  tlieir  literary  and  artistic  friends.  Miss  Gary  wa,s  tlie  autlior  of 
eleven  volumes,  besides  many  articles  contributed  to  periodic^ils.  Her 
poetry  is  marked  witli  great  sweetness  and  pathos.  Some  of  lier  prose 
works  are  much  admired,  especially  her  "  Gloveruook  Children." 


Among  the  beautiful  pictures 
That  hang  on  Memory's  wall, 


SIXTH  READER.  89 

Is  one  of  a  dim  old  forest, 

That  seemeth  best  of  all ; 
Not  for  its  gnarled  oaks  olden, 

Dark  with  the  mistletoe ; 
Not  for  the  violets  golden, 

That  sprinkle  the  vale  below; 
Not  for  the  milk-white  lilies, 

That  lean  from  the  fragrant  hedge, 
Coquetting  all  day  with  the  sunbeams. 

And  stealing  their  golden  edge ; 
Not  for  the  vines  on  the  upland, 

Where  the  bright  red  berries  rest, 
Nor  the  pinks,  nor  the  pale,  sweet  cowslip, 

It  seemeth  to  me  the  best. 

I  once  had  a  little  brother, 

With  eyes  that  were  dark  and  deep ; 
In  the  lap  of  that  dim  old  forest, 

He  lieth  in  peace  asleep : 
Light  as  the  down  of  the  thistle. 

Free  as  the  winds  that  blow. 
We  roved  there  the  beautiful  summers, 

The  summers  of  long  ago ; 
But  his  feet  on  the  hills  grew  weary, 

And,  one  of  the  Autumn  eves, 
I  made  for  my  little  brother, 

A  bed  of  the  yellow  leaves. 

Sweetly  his  pale  arms  folded 

INIy  neck  in  a  meek  embrace, 
As  the  light  of  immortal  beauty 

Silently  covered  his  face ; 
And  when  the  arrows  of  sunset 

Lodged  in  the  tree-tops  bright. 
He  fell,  in  his  saint-like  beauty. 

Asleep  by  the  gates  of  light. 


6.— S. 


90  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Therefore,  of  all  the  pictures 
That  hang  on  Memory's  wall, 

The  one  of  the  dim  old  forest 
Seemeth  the  best  of  all. 


XI.  THE    MORNING    ORATORIO. 

"Wilson  Flagg,  1805 ,  was  born  in  Beverly,  Mass.    He  pursued  his 

academical  course  in  Andover,  at  Pliilllps  Academy,  and  entered  Har- 
vard College,  but  did  not  graduate.  His  chief  works  are:  "Studies  in 
the  Field  and  Forest,"  "  The  Woods  and  By-ways  of  New  England," 
and  "The  Birds  and  Seasons  of  New  England." 

Nature,  for  the  delight  of  waking  eyes,  has  arra3'ed 
the  morning  heavens  in  the  loveliest  hues  of  beauty.  Fear- 
ing to  dazzle  by  an  excess  of  delight,  she  first  announces 
day  by  a  faint  and  glimmering  twilight,  then  sheds  a  pur- 
ple tint  over  the  brows  of  the  rising  morn,  and  infuses  a 
transparent  ruddiness  throughout  the  atmosjihere.  As  day- 
liglit  widens,  successive  groups  of  mottled  and  rosy-bosomed 
clouds  assemble  on  the  gilded  sphere,  and,  crowned  with 
wreaths  of  fickle  rainbows,  spread  a  mirrored  flush  over 
hill,  grove,  and  lake,  iind  every  village  spire  is  burnished 
with  their  splendor. 

At  length,  through  crimsoned  vapors,  we  behold  the 
sun's  broad  disk,  rising  with  a  countenance  so  serene  that 
every  eye  may  view  him  ere  he  arrays  himself  in  his 
meridian  brightness.  Not  many  people  who  live  in  towns 
are  aware  of  the  pleasure  attending  a  ramble  near  the 
woods  and  orchards  at  day-break  in  the  early  part  of  sum- 
mer. The  drowsiness  we  feel  on  rising .  from  our  beds  is 
gradually  dispelled  by  the  clear  and  healthful  breezes  of 
early  day,  and  we  soon  experience  an  unusual  amount  of 
vigor  and  elasticity. 

During  the  night,  the  stillness  of  all  things  is  the  cir- 
cumstance that  most  powerfully  attracts  our  notice,  render- 
ing us   peculiarly   sensitive   to  every  accidental   sound   that 


SIXTH  READER.  91 

meets  the  ear.  In  the  morning,  at  this  time  of  year,  on 
the  contrary,  we  are  overpowered  by  the  vocal  and  multi- 
tudinous chorus  of  the  feathered  tribe.  K  you  would  hear 
the  commencement  of  this  grand  anthem  of  nature,  you 
must  rise  at  the  very  first  appearance  of  dawn,  before  the 
twilight  has  formed  a  complete  semicircle  above  the  eastern 
porch  of  heaven. 

The  first  note  that  proceeds  from  the  little  warbling 
host,  is  the  shrill  chirp  of  the  hair-bird, — occasionally  vocal 
at  all  hours  on  a  warm  summer  night.  This  strain,  which 
is  a  continued  trilling  somid,  is  repeated  with  diminishing 
intervals,  until  it  becomes  almost  incessant.  But  ere  the 
hair-bird  has  uttered  many  notes,  a  single  robin  begius 
to  warble  from  a  neighboring  orchard,  soon  followed  by 
others,  increasing  in  numbers  until,  by  the  time  the  east- 
ern sky  is  flushed  with  crimson,  every  male  robin  in  the 
country  round  is  singing  with  fervor. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  note  the  exact  order  in  which 
the  different  birds  successively  begin  their  parts  in  this 
performance;  but  the  bluebird,  whose  song  is  only  a  short, 
mellow  warble,  is  heard  nearly  at  the  same  time  with  the 
robin,  and  the  song-sparrow  joins  them  soon  after  with  his 
brief  but  finely  modulated  strain.  The  diflferent  species 
follow  rapidly,  one  after  another,  in  the  chorus,  until  the 
whole  welkin  rings  Avith  their  matin  hymn  of  gladness. 

I  have  often  wondered  that  the  almost  simultaneous 
utterance  of  so  many  different  notes  should  produce  no 
discords,  and  that  they  should  result  in  such  complete  har- 
mony. In  this  multitudinous  confusion  of  voices,  no  two 
notes  are  confounded,  and  none  has  sufficient  duration  to 
grate  harshly  with  a  dissimilar  sound.  Though  each  per- 
former sings  only  a  few  strains  and  then  makes  a  pause, 
the  whole  multitude  succeed  one  another  with  such  rapidity 
that  we  hear  an  uninterrupted  flow  of  music  until  the 
broad  light  of  day  invites  them  to  other  employments. 

When  there  is  just  light  enough  to  distinguish  the  birds. 


92  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

we  may  observe,  here  and  there,  a  single  swallow  perched 
on  the  roof  of  a  barn  or  shed,  repeating  two  twittering 
notes  incessantly,  with  a  quick  turn  and  a  hop  at  every 
note  he  utters.  It  would  seem  to  be  the  design  of  the 
bird  to  attract  the  attention  of  his  mate,  and  this  motion 
seems  to  be  made  to  assist  her  in  discovering  his  position. 
As  soon  as  the  light  has  tempted  him  to  fly  abroad,  this 
twittering  strain  is  uttered  more  like  a  continued  song,  as 
he  flits  rapidly  through  the  air. 

But  at  this  later  moment  the  purple  martins  have  com- 
menced their  more  melodious  chattering,  so  loud  as  to 
attract  for  a  while  the  most  of  our  attention.  There  is 
not  a  sound  in  nature  so  cheering  and  animating  as  the 
song  of  the  purple  martin,  and  none  so  well  calculated  to 
drive  away  melancholy.  Though  not  one  of  the  earliest 
voices  to  be  heard,  the  chorus  is  perceptibly  more  loud 
and  efiective  when  this  bird  has  united  with  the  choir. 

When  the  flush  of  the  morning  has  brightened  into  ver- 
milion, and  the  place  from  which  the  sun  is  soon  to 
emerge  has  attained  a  dazzling  brilliancy,  the  robins  are 
already  less  tuneful.  They  are  now  becoming  busy  in  col- 
lecting food  for  their  morning  repast,  and  one  by  one  they 
leave  the  trees,  and  may  be  seen  hopping  upon  the  tilled 
ground,  in  quest  of  the  worms  and  insects  that  have  crept 
out  during  the  night  from  their  subterranean  retreats. 

But  as  the  robins  grow  silent,  the  bobolinks  begin  their 
vocal  revelries;  and  to  a  fanciful  mind  it  might  seem  that 
the  robins  had  gradually  resigned  their  part  in  the  per- 
formance to  the  bobolinks,  not  one  of  which  is  heard  until 
some  of  the  former  have  concluded  their  songs.  The  little 
hair-bird  still  continues  his  almost  incessant  chirping,  the 
first  to  begin  and  the  last  to  quit  the  performance.  Though 
the  voice  of  this  bird  is  not  very  sweetly  modulated,  it 
blends  harmoniously  with  the  notes  of  other  birds,  and 
greatly  increases  the  charming  effect  of  the  combination. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  name  all  the  birds  that  take  part 


tilXTH  READER.  93 

in  this  chorus;  but  we  must  not  omit  the  pewee,  with  his 
melancholy  ditty,  occasionally  heard  like  a  short  minor 
strain  in  an  oratorio;  nor  the  oriole,  who  is  really  one 
of  the  chief  performers,  and  who,  as  his  bright  plumage 
dashes  upon  the  sight,  warbles  forth  a  few  notes  so  clear 
and  mellow  as  to  be  heard  above  every  other  sound.  Add- 
ing a  pleasing  variety  to  all  this  harmony,  the  lisping  notes 
of  the  meadow-lark,  uttered  in  a  shrill  tone,  and  with  a 
peculiar  pensive  modulation,  are  plamly  audible,  with  short 
rests  between  each  repetition. 

There  is  a  little  brown  sparrow,  resembling  the  hair-bird, 
save  a  general  tint  of  russet  in  his  plumage,  that  may  be 
heard  distinctly  among  the  warbling  host.  He  is  rarely 
seen  in  cultivated  grounds,  but  frequents  the  wild  pastures, 
and  is  the  bird  that  warbles  so  sweetly  at  midsummer, 
when  the  whortleberries  are  rij)e,  and  the  fields  are  beau- 
tifully spangled  with  red  lilies. 

There  is  no  confusion  in  the  notes  of  his  song,  which 
consists  of  one  syllable  rapidly  repeated,  but  increasing  in 
rapidity  and  rising  to  a  higher  key  towards  the  conclusion. 
He  sometimes  prolongs  his  strain,  when  his  notes  are  ob- 
served to  rise  and  fall  in  succession.  These  plaintive  and 
expressive  notes  are  very  loud  and  constantly  uttered,  dur- 
ing the  hour  that  precedes  the  rising  of  the  sun.  A  dozen 
warblers  of  this  species,  singing  in  concert,  and  distributed 
in  different  parts  of  the  field,  form,  perhajjs,  the  most  de- 
lightful part  of  the  woodland  oratorio  to  which  we  have 
listened. 

At  sunrise  hardly  a  robin  can  be  heard  in  the  Avhole 
neighborhood,  and  the  character  of  the  performance  has 
completely  changed  during  the  last  half-hour.  The  first 
part  was  more  melodious  and  tranquilizing,  the  last  is  more 
brilliant  and  animating.  The  grass-finches,  the  vireos,  the 
Avrens,  and  the  bnnets  have  joined  their  voices  to  the 
chorus,  and  the  bobolinks  are  loudest  in  their  song.  But 
the   notes    of  the   birds  in   general   are  not   so  incessant  as 


94  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

before  sunrise.  One  by  one  they  discontinue  their  lays, 
until  at  high  noon  the  bobolink  and  the  warbling  fly- 
catcher are  almost  the  only  vocalists  to  be  heard  in  the 
fields. 


XII.  SHORT  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

I.  THE  CLOUD. 

A  CLOUD  lay  cradled  near  the  setting  sun, 
A  gleam  of  crimson  tinged  its  braided  snow; 

Long  had  I  watched  the  glory  moving  on. 
O'er  the  still  radiance  of  the  lake  below: 
Tranquil  its  spirit  seemed,  and  floated  slow, 

E'en  in  its  very  motion  there  was  rest, 

While  every  breath  of  eve  tiiat  chanced  to  blow, 

Wafted  the  traveler  to  the  beauteous  west. 

Emblem,  methought,  of  the  departed  soul. 

To  whose  white  robe  the  gleam  of  bliss  is  given. 

And  by  the  breath  of  mercy  made  to  roll 
Right  onward  to  the  golden  gate  of  heaven. 

While  to  the  eye  of  faith  it  peaceful  lies. 

And  tells  to  man  his  glorious  destinies. 

John   Wilson. 
II.  MY  MIND. 

My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is ; 

Such  perfect  joy  therein  I  find. 
As  far  exceeds  all  earthly  bliss 

That  God  or  nature  hath  assigned  ; 
Though  much  I  want  that  most  would  have, 
Yet  still  my  mind  forbids  to  crave. 

Note. — Tliis  is  the  first  stanza  of  a  poem  by  William  Byrcl 
(b,*1540,  d.  1023),  an  English  composer  of  music. 


I 


SIXTH  READER.  95 


III.  A  GOOD  NAME. 

Good  name,  in  man  or  woman,  dear  my  lord. 

Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls. 

Who  steals  my  jmrse,  steals  trash;  'tis  something,  nothing; 

'Twas  mine,  'tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousands; 

But  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name, 

Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him, 

And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 

(S%aAespea?e.  —  Othello,  Act  III,  Scene  III. 
IV.  SUNRISE. 

But  yonder  comes  the  powerful  king  of  day, 

Rejoicing  in  the  east.     The  lessening  cloud. 

The  kindling  azure,  and  the  mountain's  brow 

Illumed  with  liquid  gold,  his  near  approach 

Betoken  glad.     Lo!  now  apparent  all, 

Aslant  the  dew-bright  earth  and  colored  air 

He  looks  in  boundless  majesty  abroad. 

And  sheds  the  shining  day  that,  burnished,  plays 

On  rocks,  and  hills,  and  towers,  and  wandering  streams. 

High  gleaming  from  afar. 

Thomson. 

V.  OLD  AGE  AND  DEATH. 

Edmund  "Waller,  16ft5-1687,  an  English  poet,  was  a  cousin  of  John 
Hampden,  and  related  to  Oliver  Cromwell.  He  was  educated  at  Eton 
and  Cambridge.  Waller  was  for  many  j-ears  a  member  of  Parliament. 
He  took  part  in  the  civil  war,  and  was  detected  in  a  treasonable  plot. 
Several  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  exile  in  France.  After  the 
Restoration  he  came  into  favor  at  court.  His  poetry  is  celebrated  for 
smoothness  and  sweetness,  but  is  disfigured  by  affected  conceits. 

luiet  when  the  winds  give  oer; 


The  seas,  are  duiet  when  the  winds  give  oer; 
feo  calm  are  we  when  passions  are  no  more.  ./ 

For' then  ^we"  knt)w  how  vaip'irwa?  to  boast 
Of  fldetfiig  things,  too  certain  to"  be  lost. 
Clouds  'of  aftection  from  odl'  yoffiiger  ey^s 
Conceal  tifat  emp'tiness  which  age  descries.   „     . 


96  ECLECTIC  SEBIES. 

a- 


The  soul's  dark  cottage,  battered^nd  decayed,     _ 
Lets  in  new  liglit. through  cliinks  thaf^me  has  made: 
Stronger  by  weakness,  wiser  m^n  become, 
As  they  draw  near  j:o  their  eternal  home.  '       ^ 
Leaving;  the  old,  both  worlds  at  once  they  vifvv. 
That  stand  upon  the  threshold  of  the  new.  ^  . 


VI.    MILTON. 

John  Dryden,  1631-1700.  A  noted  English  writer,  who  was  made 
poet  laureate  by  James  II.  On  the  expulsion  of  James,  and  the  acces- 
sion  of  William  and  Mary,  Dryden  lost  his  offices  and  pensions,  and 
was  compelled  to  earn  his  bread  ))y  literary  work.  It  was  during  these 
last  years  of  his  life  that  his  best  work  was  done.  His  "  Ode  for  St. 
Cecilia's  Day  "  is  one  <jf  his  most  celebrated  poems.  His  prose  writings 
are  specimens  of  good,  strong  English, 

Three  poets,  in  three  distant  ages  born, 
Greece,  Italy,  and  England  did  adorn; 
The  first  in  loftiness  of  thought  surpassed. 
The  next  in  majesty,  in  both  the  last. 
The  force  of  nature  could  no  further  go ; 
To  make  a  third  she  joined  the  other  two. 

Note. — The  two  poets  referred  to,  other  than  Milton,  are 
Homer  and  Dante. 


Xm.    DEATH    OF   LITTLE   NELL. 

Charles  Dickens,  1813-1870.  No  novelist  of  modern  times  occupies  a 
higher  place  than  Dickens.  He  was  born  in  Portsmouth,  but  spent 
nearly  all  his  life  in  London.  His  father  was  a  conscientious  man,  but 
laclved  capacity  for  getting  a  livelihood.  In  consequence,  the  boy's 
youtli  was  mucli  darkened  by  poverty.  It  has  been  supposed  that  he 
pictured  liis  father  in  tlie  character  of  "  Micawber."  He  began  his  act- 
ive life  as  a  lawyer's  apprentice ;  but  soon  left  tliis  employment  to  be- 
come a  reporter.  This  occupation  he  followed  from  1831  to  1836.  His 
first  book  was  entitled  "  Sketclies  of  London  Society,  by  Boz."  This 
was  followed,  in  1837,  by  the  "  Pickwick  Papers,"  a  work  which  sud- 
denly brouglit  much  fame  to  the  author.  His  other  works  followed 
with   great  rapidity,  and    his  last  was  unfinished   at  the  time  of  his 


SIXTH   READER.  97 

death.  He  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey.  Mr.  Dickens  visited 
America  in  1842,  and  again  in  1807.  During  liis  last  visit,  he  read  his 
works  in  public,  in  tlie  principal  cities  of  tlie  United  States. 

The  resources  of  Dickens's  genius  seemed  exhaustless.  He  copied 
no  author,  imitated  none,  but  relied  entirely  on  his  own  powers.  He 
excelled  especially  in  humor  and  i^athos.  He  gathered  materials  for  his 
works  by  the  most  careful  and  faithful  observation.  And  he  painted  his 
characters  with  a  fldelity  so  true  to  tlieir  different  individualities  that, 
notwithstanding  they  sometimes  liave  a  quaint  grotesqueness  bordering 
on  caricature,  they  stand  before  the  memory  as  living  realities.  He  was 
particularly  successful  in  the  delineation  of  the  joys  and  griefs  of 
childhood.  "  Little  Nell  "  and  little  "  Paul  Dombey  "  are  known,  and 
have  been  loved  and  wept  over,  in  almost  every  household  where  the 
English  language  is  read.  His  writings  present  very  vividly  the  wants 
and  sufferings  of  the  poor,  and  have  a  tendency  to  prompt  to  kindness 
and  benevolence.  His  works  have  not  escaped  criticism.  It  has  been 
said  that  "  his  good  characters  act  from  impulse,  not  from  principle," 
and  that  he  sliows  "  a  tricksy  spirit  of  fantastic  exaggeration."  It  has 
also  been  said  that  his  novels  sometimes  lack  skillful  plot,  and  that 
he  seems  to  speak  approvingly  of  conviviality  and  dissipation.  "  The 
Old  Curiosity  Shop,"  from  which  the  following  extract  is  taken,  was 
published  in  1840. 

She  was  dead.  No  sleep  so  beautiful  and  calm,  so  free 
from  trace  of  pain,  so  fair  to  look  upon.  She  seemed  a 
creature  fresli  from  the  hand  of  God,  and  waiting  for  the 
breath  of  life ;  not  one  Avho  had  lived,  and  sufl'ered  death. 
Her  couch  was  dressed  with  here  and  there  some  winter 
berries  and  green  leaves,  gathered  in  a  spot  she  had  been 
used  to  favor.  "When  I  die,  put  near  me  something  that 
has  loved  the  light,  and  had  the  sky  above  it  always." 
These  were  her  words. 

She  was  dead.  Dear,  gentle,  patient,  noble  Nell  was 
dead.  Her  little  bird,  a  poor,  slight  thing  the  j)ressure 
of  a  finger  would  have  crushed,  was  stirring  nimbly  in 
its  cage,  and  the  strong  heart  of  its  child-mistress  was 
mute  and  motionless  forever!  Where  Avere  the  traces  of 
her  early  cares,  her  sufferings,  and  fatigues?  All  gone. 
Sorrow  was  dead,  indeed,  in  her;  but  peace  and  perfect 
happiness  were  born,  imaged  in  her  tranquil  beauty  and 
profound   repose. 

And  still  her  former  self  lay  there,  unaltered  in  this 
change.     Yes!    the  old  fireside  had  smiled  upon  that  same 

6.-9. 


98  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

sweet  face;  it  had  passed,  like  a  dream,  through  haunts 
of  misery  and  care ;  at  the  door  of  the  poor  school-master 
on  the  summer  evening,  before  the  furnace  fire  upon  the 
cold  wet  night,  at  the  still  bedside  of  the  dying  boy, 
there  had  been  the  same  mild  and  lovely  look.  So  shall 
we  know  the  angels,  in  their  majesty,  after  death. 

The  old  man  held  one  languid  arm  in  his,  and  had  the 
small  hand  tight  folded  to  his  breast  for  warmth.  It  was 
the  hand  she  had  stretched  out  to  him  with  her  last  smile ; 
the  hand  that  had  led  him  on  through  all  their  wander- 
ings.  Ever  and  anon  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips ;  then 
hugged  it  to  his  breast  again,  murmuring  that  it  was 
warmer  now,  and,  as  he  said  it,  he  looked  in  agony  to 
those  who  stood  around,  as  if  imploring  them  to  help 
her. 

She  was  dead,  and  past  all  help,  or  need  of  help.  The 
ancient  rooms  she  had  seemed  to  fill  with  life,  even  while 
her  own  was  waning  fast,  the  garden  she  had  tended,  the 
eyes  she  had  gladdened,  the  noiseless  haunts  of  many  a 
thoughtful  houi',  the  paths  she  had  trodden,  as  it  were, 
but  yesterday,  could  know  her  no  more. 

"It  is  not,"  said  the  school-master,  as  he  bent  down  to 
kiss  her  on  the  cheek,  and  gave  his  tears  free  vent,  "it 
is  not  in  iJiis  world  that  heaven's  justice  ends.  Think 
what  earth  is,  compared  with  the  Avorld  to  which  her 
young  spirit  has  winged  its  early  flight,  and  say,  if  one 
deliberate  wish,  expressed  in  solemn  tones  above  this  bed, 
could  call  her  back  to  life,  Avhioh  of  us  would  utter  it?" 

She  had  been  dead  two  days.  They  were  all  about  her 
at  the  time,  knowing  that  the  end  was  drawing  on.  She 
died  soon  after  day-break.  They  had  read  and  talked  to 
her  in  the  earlier  portion  of  the  night ;  but,  as  the  hours 
crept  on,  she  sank  to  sleep.  They  could  tell  by  what 
she  faintly  uttered  in  her  dreams,  that  they  were  of  her 
journeyings  with  the  old  man ;  they  were  of  no  painful 
scenes,  but  of  people  who  had  helped  them,  and  used  them 


SIXTH  READER.  99 

kindly;  for  she  often  said  "God  bless  you !"  with  great 
fervor. 

Waking,  she  never  wandered  in  her  mind  but  once,  and 
that  was  at  beautiful  music,  which,  she  said,  was  in  the 
air.  God  knows.  It  may  have  been.  Opening  her  eyes, 
at  last,  from  a  very  quiet  sleep,  she  begged  that  they 
would  kiss  her  once  again.  That  done,  she  turned  to  the 
old  man,  with  a  lovely  smile  upon  her  face,  such,  they 
said,  as  they  had  never  seen,  and  could  never  forget,  and 
clung,  with  both  her  arms,  about  his  neck.  She  had 
never  murmured  or  complained ;  but,  with  a  quiet  mind, 
and  manner  quite  unaltered,  save  that  she  every  day  be- 
came more  earnest  and  more  grateful  to  them,  faded  like 
the  light  upon  the  summer's  evening. 

The  child  who  had  been  her  little  friend,  came  there, 
almost  as  soon  as  it  -was  day,  with  an  offering  of  dried 
flowers,  which  he  begged  them  to  lay  upon  her  breast. 
He  told  them  of  his  dream  again,  and  that  it  w^as  of  her 
being  restored  to  them,  just  as  she  used  to  be.  He  begged 
hard  to  see  her:  saying,  that  he  would  be  very  quiet,  and 
that  they  need  not  fear  his  being  alarmed,  for  he  had  sat 
alone  by  his  young  brother  all  day  long,  when  he  was 
dead,  and  had  felt  glad  to  be  so  near  him.  They  let  him 
have  his  wish ;  and,  indeed,  he  kept  his  word,  and  was, 
in  his  childish  way,  a  lesson  to  them  all. 

Up  to  that  time,  the  old  man  had  not  spoken  once,  ex- 
cept to  her,  or  stirred  from  the  bedside.  But,  when  he 
saw  her  little  favorite,  he  was  moved  as  they  had  not  seen 
him  yet,  and  made  as  though  he  would  have  him  come 
nearer.  Then,  pointing  to  the  bed,  he  burst  into  tears  for 
the  first  time,  and  they  who  stood  by,  knowing  that  the 
sight  of  this  child  had  done  him  good,  left  them  alone 
together. 

Soothing  him  with  his  artless  talk  of  her,  the  child 
persuaded  him  to  take  some  rest,  to  walk  abroad,  to  do 
almost  as  he  desired   him.     And,  when  the   day  came,  on 


100  ECLECIIC  SEBIES, 

which  they  must  remove  her,  in  her  earthly  shape,  from 
earthly  eyes  forever,  he  led  him  away,  that  he  might  not 
know  when  she  was  taken  from  him.  They  were  to  gather 
fresh  leaves  and  berries  for  her  bed. 

And  now  the  bell,  the  bell  she  had  so  often  heard  by 
night  and  day,  and  listened  to  with  solemn  pleasui-e,  almost 
as  a  living  voice,  rung  its  remorseless  toll  for  her,  so 
young,  so  beautiful,  so  good.  Decrepit  age,  and  vigor- 
ous life,  and  blooming  youth,  and  helpless  infancy, — on 
crutches,  in  the  pride  of  health  and  strength,  in  the  full 
blush  of  promise,  in  the  mere  dawn  of  life,  gathered  round 
her.  Old  men  were  there,  whose  eyes  were  dim  and  senses 
failing,  grandmothers,  who  might  have  died  ten  years  ago, 
and  still  been  old,  the  deaf,  the  blind,  the  lame,  the  pal- 
sied, the  living  dead,  in  many  shapes  and  forms,  to  see 
the  closing  of  that  early  grave. 

Along  the  crowded  path  they  bore  her  now,  pure  as  the 
newly  fallen  snoAV  that  covered  it,  whose  day  on  earth  had 
been  as  fleeting.  Under  that  porch,  where  she  had  sat 
Avhen  heaven,  in  its  mercy,  brought  her  to  that  peaceful 
spot,  she  passed  again,  and  the  old  church  received  her  in 
its  quiet  shade. 


XIV.    VANITY    OF   LIFE. 

Johann  Gottfried  von  Herder,  1714-1803.  He  was  an  eminent  German 
poet,  preacher,  aud  philosoplier,  born  in  Mohrungen,  and  died  in  Wei- 
mar. His  published  works  comprise  sixty  volumes.  This  selection  is 
from  his  "  Hebrew  Poetry." 

Man,  born  of  woman. 

Is  of  a  few  days. 

And  full  of  trouble ; 

He  cometh  forth  as  a  flower,  and  is  cut  down; 

He  fleeth  also  as  a  shadow, 

And  continueth  not. 


SIXTH  READER,  101 

Upon  such  dost  thou  open  thine  eye, 
And  bring  me  unto  judgment  with  thee? 
Among  the  impure  is  there  none  pure? 
Not  one. 

Are  his  days  so  determined? 

Hast  thou  numbered  his  months, 

And  set  fast  his  bounds  for  him 

Which  he  can  never  pass? 

Turn  then  from  him  that  he  may  rest, 

And  enjoy,  as  an  hh-eling,  his  day. 

The  tree  hath  hope,  if  it  be  cut  doAvn, 

It  becometh  green  again, 

And  new  shoots  are  put  forth. 

If  even  the  root  is  old  in  the  earth, 

And  its  stock  die  in  the  ground, 

From  vapor  of  water  it  Avill  bud. 

And  bring  forth  boughs  as  a  young  phmt. 

But  man  dieth,  and  his  power  is  gone; 
He  is  taken  away,  and  where  is  he? 

Till  the  waters  waste  from  the  sea. 

Till  the  river  faileth  and  is  dry  land, 

Man  lieth  low,  and  riseth  not  again. 

Till  the  heavens  are  old,  he  shall  not  awake. 

Nor  be  aroused  from  his  sleep. 

Oh,  that  thou  wonkiest  conceal  me 

In  the  realm  of  departed  souls ! 

Hide  me  in  secret,  till  thy  wrath  be  past; 

Appoint  me  then  a  new  term. 

And  remember  me  again. 

But  alas !  if  a  man  die 

Shall  he  live  again? 


102  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

So  long,  then,  as  ray  toil  endureth, 
Will  I  wait  till  a  change  come  to  me. 
Thou  wilt  call  me,  and  I  shall  answer; 
Thou  wilt  pity  the  work  of  thy  hands. 
Though  now  thou  numberest  my  steps, 
Thou  shalt  then  not  watch  for  my  sin. 
My  transgression  will  be  sealed  in  a  bag. 
Thou  wilt  bind  up  and  remove  my  iniquity. 

Yet  alas!  the  mountain  falleth  and  is  swallowed  up. 

The  rock  is  removed  out  of  its  place, 

The  waters  hollow  out  the  stones. 

The  floods  ovei'flow  the  dust  of  the  earth. 

And  thus,  thou  destroyest  the  hope  of  man. 

Thou  contendest  with  him,  till  he  faileth, 

Thou  changest  his  countenance,  and  sendeth  him  away. 

Though  his  sons  become  great  and  happy, 

Yet  he  knoweth  it  not ; 

If  they  come  to  shame  and  dishonor, 

He  perceiveth  it  not. 

Note. — Compare  with  the  translation  of  the  same  as  given 
in  the  ordinary  version  of  the  Bible.     Job  xiv. 


XV.    A   POLITICAL   PAUSE. 

Charles  James  Fox,  1749-1806,  a  famous  English  orator  and  states- 
man, was  the  son  of  Hon.  Henry  Fox,  afterward  Lord  Holland ;  he  was 
also  a  lineal  descendant  of  Charles  II.  of  England  and  of  Henry  IV.  of 
France.  He  received  his  education  at  Westminster,  Eton,  and  Oxford, 
but  left  the  University  without  graduating.  He  was  first  elected  to 
Parliament  before  he  was  twenty  years  okl.  During  the  American 
Revolution,  he  favored  the  colonies;  later,  he  was  a  friend  and  fellow- 
partisan  both  with  Burke  and  Wilberforce.  Burke  said  of  him,  "He  is 
the  most  brilliant  and  successful  debater  the  world  ever  saw."  In  his 
later  years,  Mr.  Fox  was  as  remarkable  for  carelessness  in  dress  and 


SIXTH  READER.  103 

personal  appearance,  as  he  had  been  for  the  opposite  in  his  youth.  He 
possessed  many  pleasing  traits  of  character,  but  his  morals  were  not 
com.mendable ;  he  was  a  gambler  and  a  spendthrift.  Yet  he  exercised 
a  powerful  influence  on  the  politics  of  his  times.  This  extract  is  from 
a  speech  delivered  during  a  truce  in  the  long  war  between  England 
and  France. 

"But  we  must  pause,"  says  the  honorable  gentleman. 
What !  must  the  bowels  of  Great  Britain  be  torn  out,  her 
best  blood  spilt,  her  treasures  wasted,  that  you  may  make 
an  experiment  ?  Put  yourselves  —  Oh  !  that  you  would  put 
yourselves  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  learn  to  judge  of  the 
sort  of  horrors  you  excite.  In  former  wars,  a  man  might 
at  least  have  some  feeling,  some  interest,  that  served  to 
balance  in  his  mind  the  impressions  which  a  scene  of  car- 
nage and  death  must  inflict. 

But  if  a  man  were  present  now  at  the  field  of  slaughter, 
and  were  to  inquire  for  what  they  were  fighting  —  "Fight- 
ing!" would  be  the  answer;  "they  are  not  fighting;  they 
are  pausing."  "Why  is  that  man  expiring?  Why  is  that 
other  writhing  with  agony?  What  means  this  implacable 
fury?"  The  answer  must  be,  "You  are  quite  wrong,  sir, 
you  deceive  yourself, — they  are  not  fighting, — do  not  disturb 
them, —  they  are  merely  pausing!  This  man  is  not  expir- 
ing with  agony, —  that  man  is  not  dead, —  he  is  only  paus- 
ing! Bless  you,  sir,  they  are  not  angry  with  one  another; 
they  have  now  no  cause  of  quarrel;  but  their  country 
thinks  that  there  should  be  a  pause.  All  that  you  see  is 
nothing  like  fighting, —  there  is  no  harm,  nor  cruelty,  nor 
bloodshed  in  it;  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  political  pause. 
It  is  merely  to  try  an  experiment  —  to  see  whether  Bona- 
parte will  not  behave  himself  better  than  heretofore ;  and, 
in  the  meantime,  we  have  agreed  to  a  pause,  in  pure 
friendship ! " 

And  is  this  the  way  that  you  are  to  show  yourselves  the 
advocates  of  order?  You  take  up  a  system  calculated  to 
uncivilize  the  world,  to  destroy  order,  to  trample  On  re- 
ligion, to   stifle   in   the   heart  not  merely  the  generosity  of 


104  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

noble  sentiment,  but  the  affections  of  social  nature ;  and 
in  the  prosecution  of  this  system,  you  spread  terror  and 
devastation  all  around  you. 

Note. — In   this   lesson,  the   influence   of  a  negative  in  deter- 
mining the  rising  inflection,  is  noticeable.     See  Rule  V,  p.  24. 


XVI.    MY   EXPERIENCE   IN   ELOCUTION. 

John  Neal,  179:M876,  a  brilliant  but  eccentric  American  writer,  was 
born  in  Portland,  Maine.  He  went  into  business,  wlicn  quite  young, 
in  company  witli  John  Pierpont,  the  well-known  poet.  They  soon 
failed,  and  Mr.  Neal  then  turned  his  attention  to  the  study  of  law.  He 
practiced  his  profes.sion  somewhat,  but  devoted  most  of  his  time  to  lit- 
erature. For  a  time  he  resided  in  England,  where  he  wrote  for  "  Black- 
wood's Magazine"  and  other  periodicals.  His  writings  were  produced 
with  great  rapidity,  and  with  a  purposed  disregard  of  what  is  known 
as  "  classical  English." 

In  the  academy  I  attended,  elocution  was  taught  in  a 
way  I  shall  never  forget — never!  We  had  a  yearly  exhi- 
bition, and  the  favorites  of  the  preceptor  were  allowed  to 
speak  a  piece ;  and  a  pretty  time  they  had  of  it.  Somehow 
I  was  never  a  favorite  with  any  of  my  teachers  after  the 
first  two  or  three  days ;  and,  as  I  went  barefooted,  I  dare 
say  it  was  thought  unseemly,  or  perhaps  cruel,  to  expose 
me  upon  the  platform.  And  then,  as  I  had  no  particular 
aptitude  for  public  speaking,  and  no  relish  for  what  was 
called  oratory,  it  was  never  my  luck  to  be  called  up. 

Among  my  school-mates,  however,  was  one  —  a  very  ami- 
able, shy  boy  —  to  whom  was  assigned,  at  the  first  exhibi- 
tion I  attended,  that  passage  in  Pope's  Homer  beginning 
with, 

"Aurora,  now,  fair  daughter  of  the  dawn ! " 

This  the  poor  boy  gave  with  so  much  emphasis  and  discre- 
tion, that,  to  me,  it  sounded  like  "O  roarer!"  and  I  was 
wicked  enough,  out  of  sheer  envy,  I  dare  say,  to  call  him 


SIXTH  EEADER.  105 

"O  roarer!"  —  a  nickname  which  clung  to  him  for  a  long 
while,  though  no  human  being  ever  deserved  it  less;  for 
in  speech  and  action  both,  he  was  quiet,  reserved,  and 
sensitive. 

My  next  experience  in  elocution  was  still  more  disheart- 
ening, so  that  I  never  had  a  chance  of  showing  what  I 
was  capable  of  in  that  way  till  I  set  up  for  myself. 
Master  Moody,  my  next  instructor,  was  thought  to  have 
uncommon  qualifications  for  teaching  oratory.  He  was  a 
large,  handsome,  heavy  man,  over  six  feet  high;  and  hav- 
ing understood  that  the  first,  second,  and  third  prerequisite 
in  oratory  was  action,  the  boys  he  put  in  training  were 
encouraged  to  most  vehement  and  obstreperous  manifesta- 
tions. Let  me  give  an  example,  and  one  that  weighed 
heavily  on  my  conscience  for  many  years  after  the  poor 
man  passed  away. 

Among  his  pupils  were  two  boys,  brothers,  who  were 
thought  highly  gifted  in  elocution.  The  master,  who  was 
evidently  of  that  opinion,  had  a  habit  of  parading  them 
on  all  occasions  before  visitors  and  strangers ;  though  one 
had  lost  his  upper  front  teeth  and  lisped  badly,  and  the 
other  had  the  voice  of  a  penny  trumpet.  Week  after 
week  these  boys  went  through  the  quarrel  of  Brutus  and 
Cassius,  for  the  benefit  of  myself  and  others,  to  see  if 
their  example  would  not  provoke  us  to  a  generous  compe- 
tition for  all  the  honors. 

How  it  operated  on  the  other  boys  in  after  life  I  can 
not  say;  but  the  effect  on  me'  was  decidedly  unwholesome 
—  discouraging,  indeed,  —  until  I  was  old  enough  to  judge 
for  myself,  and  to  carry  into  operation  a  system  of  my 
own. 

On  coming  to  the  passage, 

"  Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts ; 
Dash  him  to  pieces !  " 

The  elder  of  the  two  ffave  it   after  the   followmg;   fashion : 


106  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

"Be  ready,  godths,  with  all  your  thunderboltlis,  —  dath 
him  in  pietheth ! "  —  bringing  his  right  fist  down  into  his 
left  palm  with  all  his  strength,  and  his  lifted  foot  upon 
the  platform,  which  was  built  like  a  sounding-board,  so 
that  the  master  himself,  who  had  suggested  the  action 
and  obliged  the  poor  boy  to  rehearse  it  over  and  over 
again,  appeared  to  be  utterly  carried  away  by  the  mag- 
nificent demonstration;  while  to  me  —  so  deficient  was  I 
in  rhetorical  taste  —  it  sounded  like  a  crash  of  broken 
crockery,    intermingled  with   chicken-peeps. 

I  never  got  over  it;  and  to  this  day  can  not  endure 
stamping,  nor  even  tapping  of  the  foot,  nor  clapping  the 
hands  together,  nor  thumping  the  table  for  illustration ; 
having  an  idea  that  such  noises  are  not  oratory,  and  that 
untranslatable  sounds  are  not  language. 

My  next  essay  was  of  a  somewhat  different  kind.  I  took 
the  field  in  person,  being  in  my  nineteenth  year,  well  pi'o- 
portioned,  and  already  beginning  to  have  a  sincere  relish 
for  poetry,  if  not  for  declamation.  I  had  always  been  a 
great  reader;  and  in  the  course  of  my  foraging  depredations 
I  had  met  with  "The  Mariner's  Dream"  and  "The  Lake 
of  the  Dismal  Swamp,"  both  of  which  I  had  committed  to 
memory  before  I  knew  it. 

And  one  day,  hapjiening  to  be  alone  Avith  my  sister,  and 
newly  rigged  out  in  a  student's  gown,  such  as  the  lads  at 
Brunswick  sported  when  they  came  to  show  off  among 
their  old  companions,  I  proposed  to  astonish  her  by  re- 
hearsing these  two  poems  in  appropriate  costume.  Being 
very  proud  of  her  brother,  and  very  obliging,  she  con- 
sented at  once, — upon  condition  that  our  dear  mother,  w^io 
had  never  seen  any  thing  of  the  sort,  should  be  invited  to 
make  one  of  the  audience. 

On  the  whole,  I  rather  think  that  I  succeeded  in  aston- 
ishing both.  I  well  remember  their  looks  of  amazement — 
for  they  had  never  seen  any  thing  better  or  worse  in 
all   their  lives,  and  were   no  judges  of  acting  —  as  I  swept 


SIXTH  READER.  107 

to  and  fro  in  that  magnificent  robe,  with  outstretched 
arms  and  uplifted  eyes,  when  I  came  to  passages  like  the 
following,  where  an  apostrophe  was  called  for: 

"And  near  him  the  she-wolf  stirred  the  brake, 

And  the  copper-snalve  breatlied  in  his  ear, 

Till  he,  starting,  cried,  from  his  dream  awake, 

'Oh,  when  shall  I  see  the  dusky  lake. 

And  the  white  canoe  of  my  dear  ? '  " 

Or  like  this: 

"On  beds  of  green  sea-flowers  thy  limbs  shall  be  laid; 
Around  thy  white  bones  the  red  coral  shall  grow. 
Of  thy  fair  yellow  locks,  threads  of  amber  be  made, 
And  every  part  suit  to  thy  mansion  below ;  " — 

Throwing  up  my  arms,  and  throwing  them  out  in  every 
possible  direction  as  the  spirit  moved  me,  or  the  sentiment 
prompted;  for  I  always  encouraged  my  limbs  and  features 
to  think  for  themselves,  and  to  act  for  themselves,  and 
never  predetermined,  never  forethought,  a  gesture  nor  an 
intonation  in  my  life ;  and  should  as  soon  think  of  coun- 
terfeiting another's  look  or  step  or  voice,  or  of  modu- 
lating my  own  by  a  pitch-pipe  (as  the  ancient  orators 
did,  with  whom  oratory  was  acting-elocution,  a  branch  of 
the  dramatic  art),  as  of  adopting  or  imitating  the  gest- 
ures and  tones  of  the  most  celebrated  rhetorician  I  ever 
saw. 

The  result  was  rather  encouraging.  My  mother  and 
sister  were  both  satisfied.  At  any  rate,  they  said  nothing 
to  the  contrary.  Being  only  in  my  nineteenth  year,  what 
might  I  not  be  able  to  accomplish  after  a  little  more 
experience ! 

How  little  did  I  think,  while  rehearsing  before  my 
mother  and  sister,  that  any  thing  serious  would  ever  come 
of  it,  or  that  I  was  laying  the  foundations  of  character 
for  life,  or  that  I  Avas  beginning-  what  I  should  not  be 
able  to  finish  within  the  next  forty  or  fifty  years  following. 


108  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Yet  so  it  was.  I  had  broken  the  ice  without  knowing  it. 
These  things  were  but  the  foreshadowing  of  what  happened 
long  afterward. 

Notes. —Brunswick,  Maine,  is  the  seat  of  Bowdoin  College. 

"The  Mariner's  Dream  "  is  a  poem  by  William  Dimond. 

"The  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp"  is  by  Thomas  Moore. 


XVn.    ELEGY   IN   A   COUNTRY   CHURCH-YARD. 

Thomas  Gray,  1716-1771,  is  ©ften  spoken  of  as  "  the  author  of  the 
Elegy,"— this  simple  yet  highly  finished  and  beautiful  poem  being  by 
far  the  best  known  of  all  his  writings.  It  was  finished  in  1749,— seven 
years  from  the  time  it  was  commenced.  Probably  no  short  poem  in 
the  language  ever  deserved  or  received  more  praise.  Gray  was  born  in 
London ;  his  father  possessed  property,  but  was  indolent  and  selfish  ; 
his  mother  was  a  successful  woman  of  business,  and  supported  her  son 
in  college  from  her  own  earnings.  The  poet  was  educated  at  Eton  and 
Cambridge;  at  the  latter  place,  he  resi<led  for  several  years  after  l\is  re- 
turn from  a  continental  tour,  begun  in  1739.  He  was  small  and  delicate 
in  person,  refined  and  precise  in  dress  and  mannei's,  and  shy  and  re- 
tiring in  disposition.  He  was  an  accomplished  scholar  in  many  fields 
of  learning,  but  left  comparatively  little  finished  work  in  any  depart- 
ment. He  declined  the  honor  of  poet  laureate ;  but,  in  1769,  was  ap- 
pointed Professor  of  History  at  Cambridge. 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 

The  plowman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way. 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  nie. 


Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds. 

Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight. 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds: 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower, 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 

Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower. 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 


SIXTH  BEADER.  109 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a   moldering   heap. 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid. 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 

The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care  ; 

No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke : 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield ! 

How  bowed   the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  ponqj  of  power. 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

Await  alike,  the  inevitable  hour: 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

Nor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault, 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise ; 

Where,  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault, 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 


110  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Can  storied  urn,  or  animated  bust, 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath? 

Can  Honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust, 

Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  Death? 

Perhaps,  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 

Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre: 

But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 

Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene, 

The  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear: 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Some  village  Hampden,  that,  with  dauntless  breast. 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood, 

Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest. 
Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise. 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land. 

And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

Their  lot  forbade :   nor,  circumscribed  alone 

Their  glowing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined ; 

Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind. 


SIXTH  READER.  Ill 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 
To  queuch  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 

Or  heap  the  shrine  of  luxury  and  pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

Far-  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray ; 

Along  the  cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life. 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

Yet  even  these  bones,  from  insult  to  protect. 

Some  frail  memorial  still,  erected  nigh, 
With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked. 

Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  the  unlettered  Muse, 

The  place  of  flime  and  elegy  supply ; 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 

Teaching  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey. 
This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned. 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day. 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind? 

On  some  fond  breast  the  jiarting  soul  relies. 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires ; 

Even  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries. 
Even  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  the  unhonored  dead. 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate, 

If  chance,  by  lonely  contemplation  led. 

Some  kindred  sjiirit  shall  i-nquire  thy  fate, — 


112  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 

"Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn 

Brushing,  with  hasty  step,  the  dews  away, 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  la^Vn: 

"There,  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech, 
That  wreathes  its  old,  fantastic  roots  so  high, 

His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

"  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn, 
Muttering  his  Avayward  fancies,  he  would  rove ; 

Now,  drooping,  woeful-wan,  like  one  forlorn, 

Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  love. 

"One  morn,  I  missed  him  on  the  customed  hill, 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite  tree : 

Another  came ;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill. 

Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he: 

"The  next,  with  dirges  due,  in  sad  array 

Slow  through  the  church-way  path  we  saw  him  borne:  — 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 

'Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn." 

THE    EPITAPH. 

Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth, 
A  youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown : 

Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own. 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere, 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send  : 

He  gave  to  Misery  (all  he  had )  a  tear ; 

He  gained  from  Heaven  ('twas  all  he  wished)  a  friend. 


SIXTH  READER.  113 

No  farther  seek  liis  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode 

(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose) ,- 
The  bosom  of  his  Father,  and  his  God. 

Notes. — John  Hampden  (b.  1594,  d.  1643)  was  noted  for 
his  resolute  resistance  to  the  forced  loans  and  unjust  taxes 
imposed  by  Charles  I.  on  England.  He  took  part  in  the  con- 
test between  King  and  Parliament,  and  was  killed  in  a 
skirmish. 

John  Milton.     See  biographical  notice,  page  312. 

Oliver  Cromwell  (b.  1599,  d.  1658)  was  the  leading  char- 
acter in  the  Great  Rebellion  in  England.  He  was  Lord  Pro- 
tector the  last  five  years  of  his  life,  and  in  many  respects  the 
ablest    ruler   that    England    ever   had. 


XVIII.    TACT   AND    TALENT. 

Talent  is  something,  but  tact  is  every  thing.  Talent 
is  serious,  sober,  grave,  and  respectable :  tact  is  all  that, 
and  more  too.  It  is  not  a  sixth  sense,  but  it  is  the  life 
of  all  the  five.  It  is  the  open  eye,  the  quick  ear,  the 
judging  taste,  the  keen  smell,  and  the  lively  touch ;  it  is 
the  interpreter  of  all  riddles,  the  surmounter  of  all  diffi- 
culties, the  remover  of  all  obstacles.  It  is  useful  in  all 
places,  and  at  all  times ;  it  is  useful  in  solitude,  for  it 
shows  a  man  into  the  world ;  it  is  useful  in  society,  for  it 
shows  him  his  way  through  the  world. 

Talent  is  power,  tact  is  skill ;  talent  is  weight,  tact  is 
momentum ;  talent  knows  what  to  do,  tact  knows  how  to 
do  it;  talent  makes  a  man  respectable,  tact  will  make 
him  respected;  talent  is  wealth,  tact  is  ready  money.  For 
all  the  practical  purposes,  tact  carries  it  against  talent  ten 
to   one. 

6,-10. 


114  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Take  them  to  the  theater,  and  put  them  against  each 
other  on  the  stage,  and  talent  shall  produce  you  a  tragedy 
that  shall  scarcely  live  long  enough  to  be  condemned,  while 
tact  keeps  the  house  in  a  roar,  night  after  night,  with  its 
successful  farces.  There  is  no  want  of  dramatic  talent, 
there  is  no  want  of  dramatic  tact;  but  they  are  seldom 
together:  so  we  have  successful  j^ieces  which  are  not  re- 
spectable, and  respectable   pieces  which   are  not  successful. 

Take  them  to  the  bar,  and  let  them  shake  their  learned 
curls  at  each  other  in  legal  rivalry ;  talent  sees  its  way 
clearly,  but  tact-  is  first  at  its  journey's  end.  Talent  has 
many  a  compliment  from  the  bench,  but  tact  touches  fees. 
Talent  makes  the  world  wonder  that  it  gets  on  no  faster, 
tact  arouses  astonishment  that  it  gets  on  so  fast.  And 
the  secret  is,  that  it  has  no  weight  to  carry;  it  makes  no 
false  steps ;  it  hits  the  right  nail  on  the  head ;  it  loses  no 
time ;  it  takes  all  hints ;  and,  by  keeping  its  eye  on  the 
weather-cock,  is  ready  to  take  advantage  of  every  wind 
that  blows. 

Take  them  into  the  church :  talent  has  always  something 
worth  hearing,  tact  is  sure  of  abundance  of  hearers;  talent 
may  obtain  a  living,  tact  will  make  one ;  talent  gets  a 
good  name,  tact  a  great  one;  talent  convinces,  tact  con- 
verts; talent  is  an  honor  to  the  profession,  tact  gains  honor 
from  the  profession. 

Take  them  to  court :  talent  feels  its  weight,  tact  finds 
its  way;  talent  commands,  tact  is  obeyed;  talent  is  hon- 
ored with  approbation,  and  tact  is  blessed  by  preferment. 
Place  them  in  the  senate :  talent  has  the  ear  of  the  house, 
but  tact  wins  its  heart,  and  has  its  votes ;  talent  is  fit  for 
employment,  but  tact  is  fitted  for  it.  It  has  a  knack 
of  slipping  into  place  with  a  sweet  silence  and  glibness 
of  movement,  as  a  billiard-ball  insinuates  itself  into  the 
pocket. 

It  seems  to  know  every  thing,  without  learning  any 
thing.      It   has   served   an   extemporary  apprenticeship;    it 


SIXTH  READER.  115 

wants  no  drilling ;  it  never  ranks  in  the  awkward  squad ; 
it  has  no  left  hand,  no  deaf  ear,  no  blind  side.  It  puts  on 
no  look  of  wondrous  wisdom,  it  has  no  air  of  profundity, 
but  plays  with  the  details  of  place  as  dexterously  as  a 
well-taught  hand  flourishes  over  the  keys  of  the  piano-forte. 
It  has  all  the  air  of  common-place,  and  all  the  force  and 
power  of  genius. 


XIX.    SPEECH   BEFORE   THE    VIRGINIA   CONVENTION. 

Patrick  Henry,  173Q-1799,  was  born  in  Hanover  County,  Virginia. 
He  received  instruction  in  Latin  and  niatliematics  from  lais  fattier,  but 
seemed  to  develop  a  greater  fondness  for  hunting,  fishing,  and  playing 
the  fiddle  than  for  study.  Twice  lie  was  set  up  in  business,  and  twice 
failed  before  he  was  twenty-four.  He  was  then  admitted  to  the  bar 
after  six  weeks'  study  of  the  law.  He  got  no  bvisiness  at  first  in  his 
profession,  but  lived  with  his  father-in-law.  His  wonderful  powers  of 
oratory  first  showed  themselves  in  a  celebrated  ca.se  which  he  argued 
in  Hanover  Court-house,  his  own  father  being  the  presiding  magis- 
trate. Hs  began  very  awkwardly,  but  .soon  rose  to  a  surprising  height 
of  eloquence,  won  his  case  against  great  odds,  and  was  carried  off  in 
triumph  by  the  delighted  spectators.  His  fame  was  now  established; 
business  flowed  in,  and  he  was  soon  elect/cd  to  the  Virginia  Legislature, 
He  was  a  delegate  to  the  Congress  of  1774,  and  in  1775  made  the  prophetic 
speech  of  which  the  following  selection  is  a  portion.  It  was  on  his  own 
motion  that  the  "  colony  be  immediately  put  in  a  state  of  defense." 
During  the  Revolution  he  was,  for  several  years,  Governor  of  \'irginia. 
In  1788,  he  earnestly  opposed  the  adoption  of  the  Federal  Constitution. 
When  he  died,  he  left  a  large  familj^  and  an  ample  fortune.  In  person, 
Mr.  Henry  was  tall  and  rather  awkward,  with  a  face  stern  and  gra've. 
When  he  spoke  on  great  occasions,  his  awkwardness  forsook  him,  his  face 
lighted  up,  and  his  eyes  flashed  with  a  wonderful  fire.  In  his  life,  he  was 
good-humored,  honest,  and  temperate.  His  patriotism  was  of  the  noblest 
type;  and  few  men  in  those  stormy  times  did  better  service  for  their 
country  than  he. 

It  is  natural  fur  man  to  indulge  in  the  illusions  of 
hope.  We  are  apt  to  shut  our  eyes  against  a  painful 
truth,  and  listen  to  the  song  of  that  siren  till  she  trans- 
forms us  into  beasts.  Is  this  the  part  of  wise  men,  en- 
gaged in  a  great  and  arduous  struggle  for  liberty?  Are 
we  disposed   to   be  of  the  number   of   those,   who,   having 


116  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

eyes,  see  not,  and  having  ears,  hear  not  the  things  which 
60  nearly  concern  their  temporal  salvation?  For  my  part, 
whatever  anguish  of  spirit  it  may  cost,  I  am  willing  to 
know  the  whole  truth;  to  know  the  worst,  and  to  provide 
for  it. 

I  have  but  one  lamp  by  which  my  feet  are  guided;  and 
that  is  the  lamp  of  experience.  I  know  of  no  way  of  judg- 
ing of  the  future  but  by  the  jmst;  and,  judging  by  the 
past,  I  wish  to  know  what  there  has  been  in  the  conduct 
of  the  British  ministry  for  the  last  ten  years  to  justify 
those  hopes  with  which  gentlemen  have  been  pleased  to 
solace  themselves  and  the  house?  Is  it  that  insidious  smile 
with  which  our  petition  has  been  lately. received?  Trust  it 
not:  it  will  prove  a  snare  to  your  feet.  Suffer  not  your- 
selves to  be  betrayed  with  a  kiss.  Ask  yourselves,  how  this 
gracious  reception  of  our  petition  comports  with  those  war- 
like preparations  which  cover  our  waters  and  darken  our 
land.  Are  fleets  and  armies  necessary  to  a  work  of  love 
and  reconciliation?  Have  we  shown  ourselves  so  unwilling 
to  be  reconciled  that  force  must  be  called  in  to  win  back 
our  love?  Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves.  These  are  the 
implements  of  war  and  subjugation, — the  last  arguments 
to  which  kings  resort. 

I  ask,  gentlemen,  what  means  this  martial  array,  if  its 
purpose  be  not  to  force  us  into  submission?  Can  gentle- 
men assign  any  other  possible  motive  for  it?  Has  Great 
Britain  any  enemy  in  this  quarter  of  the  world,  to  call 
for  all  this  accumulation  of  navies  and  armies?  No,  she 
has  none.  They  are  meant  for  us:  they  can  be  meant  for 
no  other.  They  are  sent  over  to  bind  and  rivet  upon  us 
those  chains  which  the  British  ministry  have  been  so  long 
forging.  And  what  have  we  to  oppose  to  them?  Shall  we 
try  argument?  We  have  been  trying  that  for  the  last  ten 
years.  Have  we  any  thing  new  to  offer  upon  the  sub- 
ject? Nothing.  We  have  held  the  subject  up  in  every 
light  in  which  it  was  capable;  but  it  has  been  all  in  vain. 


SIXTH  READER.  117 

Shall  we  resort  to  entreaty  and  humble  supplication? 
What  terms  shall  we  find  which  have  not  been  already 
exhausted?  Let  us  not,  I  beseech  you,  deceive  ourselves 
longer.  We  have  done  every  thing  that  could  be  done,  to 
avert  the  storm  which  is  now  coming  on.  We  have  peti- 
tioned ;  we  have  remonstrated ;  we  have  supplicated ;  we 
have  prostrated  ourselves  at  the  foot  of  the  throne,  and 
implored  its  interposition  to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands 
of  the  ministry  and  parliament.  Our  petitions  have  been 
slighted ;  our  remonstrances  have  produced  additional  vio- 
lence and  insult ;  our  supplications  disregarded ;  and  we  have 
been  spurned  with  contempt  from  the  foot  of  the  throne. 

In  vain,  after  these  things,  may  we  indulge  the  fond 
hope  of  peace  and  reconciliation.  There  is  no  longer  any 
room  for  hope.  If  we  wish  to  be  fi-ee;  if  we  mean  to  pre- 
serve inviolate  those  inestimable  privileges  for  which  we 
have  been  so  long  contending;  if  we  mean  not  basely  to 
abandon  the  noble  struggle  in  which  we  have  been  so  long 
engaged,  and  which  we  have  pledged  ourselves  never  to 
abandon  until  the  glorious  object  of  our  contest  shall  be 
obtained  —  we  must  fight!  I  repeat  it,  we  must  fight! 
An  appeal  to  arms  and  the  God  of  Hosts,  is  all  that  is 
left  us. 

They  tell  us  that  we  are  weak ;  unable  to  cope  with  so 
formidable  an  adversary.  But  when  shall  we  be  stronger? 
Will  it  be  the  next  week,  or  the  next  year?  Will  it  be 
when  we  are  totally  disarmed,  and  when  a  British  guard 
shall  be  stationed  in  every  house?  Shall  we  gather  strength 
by  irresolution  and  inaction?  Shall  we  acquire  the  means 
of  effectual  resistance  by  lying  supinely  on  our  backs,  and 
hugging  the  delusive  phantom  of  hope,  until  our  enemies 
shall  have  bound  us  hand  and  foot?  We  are  not  weak, 
if  we  make  a  proper  use  of  those  means  which  the  God 
of  nature  hath  placed  in  our  jwwer. 

Three  millions  of  people,  armed  in  the  holy  cause  of 
liberty,   and  in  such  a  country  as   that  which  we  possess, 


118  ECLECTIC   SERIES. 

are  invincible  by  any  force  which  our  enemy  can  send 
against  us.  Besides,  we  shall  not  fight  our  battles  alone. 
There  is  a  just  God  who  presides  over  the  destinies  of 
nations;  and  who  wUl  raise  up  friends  to  fight  our  bat- 
tles for  us.  The  battle  is  not  to  the  strong  alone;  it  is  to 
the  vigilant,  the  active,  the  brave.  Besides,  Ave  have  no 
election.  If  we  were  base  enough  to  desire  it,  it  is  now 
too  late  to  retire  from  the  contest.  There  is  no  retreat 
but  in  submission  and  slavery !  Our  chains  are  forged. 
Their  clanking  may  be  heard  on  the  plains  of  Boston ! 
The  war  is  inevitable;  and,  let  it  come!  I  repeat  it,  let 
it  come ! 

It  is  in  vain  to  extenuate  the  matter.  Gentlemen  may 
cry  peace,  peace;  but  there  is  no  peace.  The  war  is  actu- 
ally begun.  The  next  gale  that  sweeps  from  the  north, 
will  bring  to  our  ears  the  clash  of  resounding  arms!  Our 
brethren  are  already  in  the  field!  Why  stand  we  here 
idle?  What  is  it  that  gentlemen  wish?  What  would  they 
have?  Is  life  so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be  pur- 
chased at  the  price  of  chains  and  slavery?  Forbid  it. 
Almighty  God!  I  know  not  what  course  others  may  take; 
but  as  for  me,  give  me  liberty,  or  give  me  death. 

Notes. — Observe,  in  this  lesson,  the  all-controlling  power 
of  emphasis  in  determining  the  falling  inflection.  The  words 
"see,"  "hear,"  and  "my,"  in  the  first  paragraph,  the  word 
"that"  in  the  second,  and  "spurned"  and  "contempt"  in  the 
fourth  paragraph,  are  examples  of  this.  Let  the  reader  re- 
member that  a  high  degree  of  emphasis  is  sometimes  expressed 
by  a  whisper ;  also,  that  emphasis  is  often  expressed  by  a 
pause. 

It  will  be  well  to  read  in  this  connection  some  good  history 
of  the  opening  scenes  of  the  Kevolution. 


SIXTH  READER,  119 


XX.    THE  AMERICAN   FLAG. 

Joseph  Rodman  Drake,  1795-1820,  was  born  iu  New  York  City.  His 
father  died  when  he  was  very  young,  and  his  early  life  was  a  struggle 
with  poverty.  He  studied  medicine,  and  took  his  degree  when  he  was 
about  twenty  years  old.  From  a  child,  he  showed  remarkable  poetical 
powers,  having  made  rhymes  at  the  early  age  of  Ave.  Most  of  his 
published  writings  were  produced  during  a  period  of  less  than  two 
years,  — "The  Culprit  Fay"  and  the  "American  Flag"  are  best  known. 
In  disposition,  Mr.  Drake  was  gentle  and  kindly ;  and,  on  the  occasion 
of  his  death,  his  intimate  friend,  Fitz-Gi'eene  Halleck,  expressed  his 
character  in  the  well-known  couplet : 

"None  knew  thee  but  to  love  thee, 
Nor  named  thee  but  to  praise." 

When  Freedom,  from  her  mouiitaiu-height, 
Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 

She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 
And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there : 

She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 

The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 

And  striped  its  pure,  celestial  white 

With  streakings  of  the  morning  light; 

Then,  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun, 

She  called  her  eagle-bearer  down. 

And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 

The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 


Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud ! 

Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form. 
To  hear  the  tempest-trumpings  loud. 
And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven, 

When  strive  the  warriors  of  the  storm, 
And  rolls  the  thunder-drum  of  heaven;  — 
Child  of  the  sun !    to  thee  't  is  given 

To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free, 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke. 
To  ward  away  the  battle  stroke. 


120  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

And  bid  its  blendings  shine  afar, 
Like  rainbows  on  the  cloud  of  war, 
The  harbingers  of  victory! 

Flag  of  the  brave !    thy  folds  shall  fly, 
The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high ! 
When  speaks  the  signal-trumjDct  tone, 
And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on, 
Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and  wet, 
Has  dimmed  the  glistening  bayonet, 
Each  soldier's  eye  shall  brightly  torn 
To  where  thy  sky-born  glories  burn. 
And,  as  his  springing  steps  advance. 
Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance. 
And  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud 
Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle  shroud, 
And  gory  sabers  rise  and  fall, 
Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight's  pall, 
Then  shall  thy  meteor  glances  glow, 
And  cowering  foes  shall  sink  beneath 
Each  gallant  arm,  that  strikes  below 
That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 

Flag  of  the  seas!    on  ocean's  wave 
Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave; 
When  death,  careering  on  the  gale. 
Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail. 
And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back, 
Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack. 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 
Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 
And  smile  to  see  thy  splendors  fly 
In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home, 
By  angel  hands  to  valor  given, 


SIXTH  READER.  121 

Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 
And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 

Forever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us, 

With  Freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet, 
And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us? 


XXI.    IRONICAL   EULOGY   ON   DEBT. 

Debt  is  of  the  very  highest  antiquity.  The  first  debt 
in  the  history  of  man  is  the  debt  of  nature,  and  the  first 
instinct  is  to  put  off  the  payment  of  it  to  the  last  mo- 
ment. Many  persons,  it  will  be  observed,  following  the 
natural  procedure,  would  die  before  they  would  pay  their 
debts. 

Society  is  composed  of  two  classes,  debtors  and  creditors. 
The  creditor  class  has  been  erroneously  supposed  the  more 
enviable.  Never  was  there  a  greater  misconception ;  and 
the  hold  it  yet  maintains  upon  opinion  is  a  remarkable  ex- 
ample of  the  obstinacy  of  error,  notwithstanding  the  plain- 
est lessons  of  experience.  The  debtor  has  the  sympathies 
of  mankind.  He  is  seldom  spoken  of  but  with  expressions 
of  tenderness  and  compassion — "the  poor  debtor!"  —  and 
"the  unfortunate  debtor!"  Ou  the  other  hand,  "harsh" 
and  ' '  hard-hearted "  are  the  epithets  allotted  to  the  cred- 
itor. Who  ever  heard  the  "poor  creditor,"  the  "unfortu- 
nate creditor"  spoken  of?  No,  the  creditor  never  becomes 
the  object  of  pity,  unless  he  passes  into  the  debtor  class. 
A  creditor  may  be  ruined  by  the  poor  debtor,  but  it  is 
not  until  he  becomes  unable  to  pay  his  own  debts,  that 
he  begins  to  be  ^compassionated. 

A  debtor  is  a  man  of  mark.  Many  eyes  are  fixed  upon 
him;  many  have  interest  in  his  well-being;  his  movements 
are  of  concern ;    he  can  not  disappear  unheeded ;  his  name 

6.-11. 


122  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

is  in  many  mouths;  his  name  is  upon  many  books;  he  is 
a  man  of  note  —  oi proynk^onj  note;  he  fills  the  specula- 
tion of  many  minds;  men  conjecture  about  him,  wonder 
about  him,  —  wonder  and  conjecture  whether  he  will  pay. 
He  is  a  man  of  consequence,  for  many  are  running  after 
him.  His  door  is  thronged  with  duns.  He  is  inquired 
after  every  hour  of  the  day.  Judges  hear  of  him  and 
know  him.  Every  meal  he  swallows,  every  coat  he  puts 
upon  his  back,  every  dollar  he  borrows,  appears  before  the 
country  in  some  formal  document.  Compare  his  notoriety 
with  the  obscure  lot  of  the  creditor,  —  of  the  man  who  has 
nothing  but  claims  on  the  world ;  a  landlord,  or  fund- 
holder,  or  some  such  disagreeable,  hard  character. 

The  man  who  pays  his  way  is  unknown  in  his  neighbor- 
hood. You  ask  the  milk-man  at  his  door,  and  he  can  not 
tell  his  name.  You  ask  the  butcher  where  Mr.  Payall 
lives,  and  he  tells  you  he  knows  no  such  name,  for  it  is 
not  in  his  books.  You  shall  ask  the  baker,  and  he  will 
tell  you  there  is  no  such  person  in  the  neighborhood. 
People  that  have  his  money  fast  in  their  pockets,  have  no 
thought  of  his  person  or  appellation.  His  house  only  is 
known.  No.  31  is  good  pay.  No.  31  is  ready  money. 
Not  a  scrap  of  paper  is  ever  made  out  for  No.  31.  It  is 
an  anonymous  house;  its  owner  j^ays  his  way  to  obscurity. 
No  one  knows  any  thing  about  him,  or  heeds  his  move- 
ments. If  a  carriage  be  seen  at  his  door,  the  neighbor- 
hood is  not  full  of  concern  lest  he  be  going  to  run  away. 
If  a  package  be  removed  from  his  house,  a  score  of  boys 
are  not  employed  to  watch  Avhether  it  be  carried  to  the 
pawnbroker.  Mr.  Payall  fills  no  place  in  the  public  mind; 
no  one  has  any  hopes  or  fears  about  him. 

The  creditor  always  figures  in  the  fancy  as  a  sour,  single 
man,  with  grizzled  hair,  a  scowling  countenance,  and  a 
peremptory  air,  who  lives  in  a  dark  apartment,  with  musty 
deeds  about  him,  and  an  iron  safe,  as  impenetrable  as  his 
heart,  grabbing  together  what  he  does  not  enjoy,  and  what 


SIXTH  READER.  123 

there  is  no  one  about  him  to  enjoy.  The  debtor,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  always  pictured  with  a  wife  and  six  fair- 
haired  daughters,  bound  together  in  affection  and  misery, 
full  of  sensibility,  and  suffering  without  a  fault.  The  cred- 
itor, it  is  never  doubted,  thrives  Avithout  a  merit.  He  has 
no  wife  and  children  to  pity.  No  one  ever  thinks  it  de- 
sirable that  he  should  have  the  means  of  living.  He  is  a 
brute  for  insisting  that  he  must  receive,  in  order  to  pay. 
It  is  not  in  the  imagination  of  man  to  conceive  that  his 
creditor  has  demands  upon  him  which  must  be  satisfied, 
and  that  he  must  do  to  others  as  others  must  do  to  him. 
A  creditor  is  a  personification  of  exaction.  He  is  supposed 
to  be  always  taking  in,  and  never  giving  out. 

People  idly  fancy  that  the  possession  of  riches  is  desir- 
able. What  blindness !  Spend  and  regale.  Save  a  shil- 
ling and  you  lay  it  by  for  a  thief.  The  prudent  men  are 
the  men  that  live  beyond  their  means.  Happen  what  may, 
they  are  safe.  They  have  taken  time  by  the  forelock.  They 
have  anticipated  fortune.  "The  wealthy  fool,  with  gold 
in  store,"  has  only  denied  himself  so  much  enjoyment, 
which  another  will  seize  at  his  expense.  Look  at  these 
people  in  a  panic.  See  who  are  the  fools  then.  You 
know  them  by  their  long  faces.  You  may  say,  as  one  of 
them  goes  by  in  an  agony  of  apprehension,  "There  is  a 
stupid  fellow  who  fancied  himself  rich,  because  he  had  fifty 
thousand  dollars  in  bank."  The  history  of  the  last  ten 
years  has  taught  the  moral,  "spend  and  regale."  What- 
ever is  laid  u}^  beyond  the  present  hour,  is  put  in  jeopardy. 
There  is  no  certainty  but  in  instant  enjoyment.  Look  at 
school-boys  sharing  a  plum  cake.  The  knowing  ones  eat, 
as  for  a  race ;  but  a  stupid  fellow  saves  his  portion ;  just 
nibbles  a  bit,  and  "keeps  the  rest  for  another  time."  Most 
provident  blockhead !  The  others,  when  they  have  gobbled 
up  their  shares,  set  upon  him,  plunder  him,  and  thresh 
him  for  crying  out. 

Before  the  terms  "depreciation,"  "suspension,"  and  "go- 


124  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

ing  into  liquidation,"  were  heard,  there  might  have  been 
some  reason  in  the  practice  of  "laying  up;"  but  now  it 
denotes  the  darkest  blindness.  The  i:)rudent  men  of  the 
present  time,  are  the  men  in  debt.  The  tendency  being 
to  sacrifice  creditors  to  debtors,  and  the  debtor  party  ac- 
quiring daily  new  strength,  every  one  is  in  haste  to  get 
into  the  favored  class.  In  any  case,  the  debtor  is  safe. 
He  has  put  his  enjoyments  behind  him ;  they  are  safe ;  no 
turns  of  fortune  can  disturb  them.  The  substance  he  has 
eaten  up,  is  irrecoverable.  The  future  can  not  trouble  his 
past.  He  has  nothing  to  apprehend.  He  has  anticipated 
more  than  fortune  would  ever  have  granted  him.  He  has 
tricked  fortune;  and  his  creditors  —  bah!  Avho  feels  for 
creditors?  What  are  creditors?  Landlords;  a  pitiless  and 
unpitiable  tribe ;  all  griping  extortioners !  What  would 
become  of  the  world  of  debtors,  if  it  did  not  steal  a 
march  upon  this  rapacious  class? 


XXII.    THE    THREE   WARNINGS. 

Hester  Lynch  Thrale,  1739-1821,  owes  her  celebrity  almost  wholly 
to  her  long  Intimacy  with  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson.  This  continued  for 
twenty  years,  during  which  Johnson  spent  much  time  in  her  family. 
She  was  born  in  Caernarvonshire,  Wales;  her  first  husband  was  a 
wealthy  brewer,  by  wliom  slie  had  several  cliildren.  In  17S4,  she  mar- 
ried an  Italian  teacher  of  music  named  Piozzi.  Her  writings  are  quite 
numerous;  the  best  known  of  her  books  is  the  "Anecdotes  of  Dr. 
Johnson ; "  but  nothing  she  ever  wrote  is  so  well  known  as  the  "  Three 
Warnings." 

The  tree  of  deepest  root  is  found 
Least  willing  still  to  quit  the  ground ; 
'T  was  therefore  said  by  ancient  sages. 

That  love  of  life  increased  with  years 
So  much,  that  in  oiu-  latter  stages. 
When  pains  grow  sharp,  and  sickness  rages, 

The  greatest  love  of  life  appears. 


SIXTH  READER.  125 

This  great  affection  to  believe, 
Which  all  confess,  but  few  perceive, 
If  old  assertions  can't  prevail, 
Be  pleased  to  hear  a  modern  tale. 

When  sports  went  round,  and  all  were  gay, 

On  neighbor  Dodsou's  wedding-day. 

Death  called  aside  the  jocund  groom 

With  him  into  another  room ; 

And  looking  grave,  "  You  must,"  says  he, 
"  Quit  your  sweet  bride,  and  come  with  me." 
"With  you!  and  quit  my  Susan's  side? 

With  you !  "  the  hapless  bridegroom  cried : 
*  Young  as  I  am,  't  is  monstrous  hard ! 

Besides,  in  truth,  I'm  not  prepared." 

What  more  he  urged,  I  have  not  heard ; 

His  reasons  could  not  well  be  stronger: 
So  Death  the  poor  delinquent  spared. 

And  left  to  live  a  little  longer. 
Yet,  calling  up  a  serious  look. 
His  hour-glass  trembled  while  he  spoke: 
"Neighbor,"  he  said,  "farewell!  no  more 
Shall  Death  disturb  your  mirthful  hour; 
And  further,  to  avoid  all  blame 
Of  cruelty  upon  my  name, 
To  give  you  time  for  preparation. 
And  fit  you  for  your  future  station. 
Three  several  warnings  you  shall  have 
Before  you  're  summoned  to  the  grave : 
Willing  for  once  I  '11  quit  my  prey, 

And  grant  a  kind  reprieve ; 
In  hopes  you  '11  have  no  more  to  say. 
But,  when  I  call  again  this  way, 

Well  pleased  the  world  will  leave." 


126  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

To  these  conditions  both  consented, 
And  parted  perfectly  contented. 


What  next  the  hero  of  our  tale  befell, 
How  long  he  lived,  how  wisely,  and  how  well, 
It  boots  not  that  the  Muse  should  tell; 
He  plowed,  he  sowed,  he  bought,  he  sold, 
Nor  once  perceived  his  growing  old. 

Nor  thought  of  Death  as  near ; 
His  friends  not  false,  his  wife  no  shrew, 
Many  his  gains,  his  children  few. 
He  passed  his  hours  in  peace. 
But,  while  he  viewed  his  wealth  increase, 
While  thus  along  life's  dusty  road. 
The  beaten  track,  content  he  trod. 
Old  Time,  whose  haste  no  mortal  spares, 
Uncalled,  unheeded,  unawares, 

Brought  on  his  eightieth  year. 


And  now,  one  night,  in  musing  mood, 
As  all  alone  he  sate,  ~ 
The  unwelcome  messenger  of  Fate 
Once  more  before  him  stood. 
Half-killed  with  wonder  and  surprise, 
"So  soon  returned!"  old  Dodson  cries. 
"So  soon  d'ye  call  it?"  Death  replies: 
"Surely,  my  friend,  you're  but  in  jest; 
Since  I  was  here  before, 
'Tis  six  and  thirty  years  at  least, 
And  you  are  now  fourscore." 
"So  much  the  worse!"  the  clown  rejoined; 
"To  spare  the  aged  would  be  kind: 
Besides,  you  promised  me  three  warnings, 
Which  I  have  looked  for  nights  and  mornings ! " 


SIXTH  READER.  127 

"I  know,"  cries  Death,  "that  at  the  best, 
I  seldom  am  a  welcome  guest; 
But  do  n't  be  captious,  friend ;  at  least, 
I  little  thought  that  you'd  be  able 
To  stump  about  your  farm  and  stable; 
Your  years  have  run  to  a  great  length, 
Yet  still  you  seem  to  have  your  strength." 


"  Hold !  "  says  the  farmer,  "  not  so  fast ! 

I  have  been  lame,  these  four  years  past." 
"And  no  great  wonder,"  Death  replies; 
"However,  you  still  keep  your  eyes; 

And  surely,  sir,  to  see  one's  friends, 

For  legs  and  arms  would  make  amends." 
"Perhaps,"  says  Dodson,  "so  it  might. 

But  latterly  I've  lost  my  sight." 
"  This  is  a  shocking  story,  faith ; 

But  there's  some  comfort  still,"  says  Death; 
"Each  strives  your  sadness  to  amuse; 

I  warrant  you  hear  all  the  news." 
"There's  none,"  cries  he,  "and  if  there  were, 

I've  grown  so  deaf,  I  could  not  hear." 


"Nay,  then,"  the  specter  stern  rejoined, 
"These  are  unpardonable  yearnings; 
If  you  are  lame,  and  deaf,  and  blind, 

You  've  had  your  three  sufficient  warnings, 
So,  come  along;  no  more  Ave '11  part: 
He  said,  and  touched  him  with  his  dart: 
And  now  old  Dodson,  turning  pale. 
Yields  to  his  fate — so  ends  my  tale. 


128  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


XXIII.     THE    MEMORY    OF   OUR   FATHERS. 

Lyman  Beecher,  1775-1863,  a  famous  Congregational  minister  of 
New  England,  was  born  in  New  Haven,  graduated  from  Yale  College 
in  1797,  and  studied  theology  with  Dr.  Timothy  Dwight.  His  first  set- 
tlement was  at  East  Hampton,  L.  I.,  at  a  salary  of  three  hundred 
dollars  per  year.  He  was  pastor  of  the  chhrch  in  Litchfield,  Ct.,  from 
1810  till  1826,  when  he  removed  to  Boston,  and  took  charge  of  the 
Hanover  Street  Church.  In  the  religious  controversies  of  the  time. 
Dr.  Beecher  was  one  of  the  most  prominent  characters.  From  1832  lo 
1842,  he  was  President  of  Lane  Theological  Seminary,  in  tlie  suburbs 
of  Cincinnati.  He  then  returned  to  Boston,  where  he  spent  most  of 
the  closing  years  of  his  long  and  active  life.  His  death  occurred  in 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  As  a  theologian,  preacher,  and  advocate  of  education, 
temperance,  and  missions,  Dr.  Beecher  occupied  a  very  prominent 
place  for  nearly  half  a  century.  He  left  a  large  family  of  sons  and 
two  daughters,  who  are  well  known  as  among  the  most  eminent 
preachers  and  authors  in  America. 


We  are  called  upon  to  cherish  with  high  veneration  and 
grateful  recollections,  the  memory  of  our  fathers.  Both  the 
ties  of  nature  and  the  dictates  of  policy  demand  this.  And 
surely  no  nation  had  ever  less  occasion  to  be  ashamed  of 
its  ancestry,  or  more  occasion  for  gratulatiou  in  that  re- 
spect ;  for  while  most  nations  trace  their  origin  to  barba- 
rians, the  foundations  of  our  nation  were  laid  by  civilized 
men,  by  Christians.  Many  of  them  were  men  of  distin- 
guished families,  of  powerful  talents,  of  great  learning  and 
of  pre-eminent  wisdom,  of  decision  of  character,  and  of 
most  inflexible  integrity.  And  yet  not  uufrequently  they 
have  been  treated  as  if  they  had  no  virtues;  while  their 
sins  and  follies  have  been  sedulously  immortalized  in  satir- 
ical anecdote. 

The  influence  of  such  treatment  of  our  fathers  is  too 
manifest.  It  creates  and  lets  loose  upon  their  institutions, 
the  vandal  spirit  of  innovation  and  overthrow ;  for  after 
the  memory  of  our  fathers  shall  have  been  rendered  con- 
temptible, who  will  appreciate  and  sustain  their  institu- 
tions? "The  memory  of  our  fathers"  should  be  the  watch- 
word of  liberty  throughout  the  land;  for,  imperfect  as  they 


SIXTH  READER.  129 

were,  the  world  before  had  not  seen  their  like,  nor  will  it 
soon,  we  fear,  behold  their  like  again.  Such  models  of 
moral  excellence,  such  apostles  of  civil  and  religious  lib- 
erty, such  shades  of  the  illustrious  dead  looking  down  upon 
their  descendants  with  approbation  or  reproof,  according  as 
they  follow  or  depart  from  the  good  way,  constitute  a  cen- 
sorship inferior  only  to  the  eye  of  God  ;  and  to  ridicule 
them  is  national  suicide. 

The  doctrines  of  our  fathers  have  been  represented  as 
gloomy,  sujDerstitious,  severe,  irrational,  and  of  a  licentious 
tendency.  But  when  other  systems  shall  have  produced  a 
piety  as  devoted,  a  morality  as  pure,  a  patriotism  as  dis- 
interested, and  a  state  of  society  as  happy,  as  have  pre- 
vailed where  their  doctrines  have  been  most  prevalent,  it 
may  be  in  season  to  seek  an  answer  to  this  objection. 

The  persecutions  instituted  by  our  fathers  have  been  the 
occasion  of  ceaseless  obloquy  upon  their  fair  fame.  And 
truly,  it  was  a  fault  of  no  ordinary  magnitude,  that  some- 
times they  did  persecute.  But  let  him  whose  ancestors 
were  not  ten  times  more  guilty,  cast  the  first  stone,  and 
the  ashes  of  our  fiithers  Avill  no  more  be  disturbed.  Theirs 
was  the  fault  of  the  age,  and  it  will  be  easy  to  show  that 
no  class  of  men  had,  at  that  time,  approximated  so  nearly 
to  just  apprehensions  of  religious  liberty;  and  that  it  is  to 
them  that  the  world  is  now  indebted  for  the  more  just  and 
definite  views  which  now  prevail. 

The  superstition  and  bigotry  of  our  fathers  are  themes 
on  which  some  of  their  descendants,  themselves  far  enough 
from  superstition,  if  not  from  bigotry,  have  delighted  to 
dwell.  But  when  w^e  look  abroad,  and  behold  the  condi- 
tion of  the  world,  compared  with  the  condition  of  New 
England,  we  may  justly  exclaim,  "  Would  to  God  that 
the  ancestors  of  all  the  nations  had  been  not  only  almost, 
but  altogether  such  bigots  as  our  fathers  were." 


130  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


XXIV.    SHORT    SELECTIONS    IN   PROSE. 
I.   DRYDEN  AND  POPE. 

Dryden  knew  more  of  man  in  his  general  nature,  and 
Pope  in  his  local  manners.  The  notions  of  Dryden  were 
formed  by  comprehensive  speculation,  those  of  Pope  by 
minute  attention.  There  is  more  dignity  in  the  knowledge 
of  Dryden,  more  certainty  in  that  of  Pope.  The  style  of 
Dryden  is  capricious  aud  varied,  that  of  Pope  cautious  and 
uniform.  Dryden  obeys  the  motions  of  his  own  mind ; 
Pope  constrains  his  mind  to  his  own  rules  of  composition. 
Dryden's  page  is  a  natural  field,  rising  into  inequalities, 
and  diversified  by  the  varied  exuberance  of  abundant  veg- 
etation; Pope's  is  the  velvet  lawn,  shaven  by  the  scythe, 
and  leveled  by  the  roller.  If  the  flights  of  Dryden  are 
higher,  Pope  continues  longer  on  the  wing.  If,  of  Dryden's 
fire,  the  blaze  is  brighter,  of  Pope's  the  heat  is  more  regu- 
lar and  constant.  Dryden  often  surpasses  expectation,  and 
Pope  never  falls  below  it.  Dryden  is  read  with  frequent 
astonishment,  and   Pope  with  perpetual   delight. 

—tlamuel  Johnson. 
Note. — A  fine  example  of  antithesis.     See  p.  26. 


II.  LAS  CASAS  DISSUADING  FROM  BATTLE. 

Is  then  the  dreadful  measure  of  your  cruelty  not  yet 
complete  ?  Battle !  against  whom  ?  Against  a  king,  in 
whose  mild  bosom  your  atrocious  injuries,  even  yet,  have 
not  excited  hate;  but  who,  insulted  or  victorious,  still  sues 
for  peace.  Against  a  people,  who  never  wronged  the  liv- 
ing being  their  Creator  formed;  a  people,  who  received  you 
as  cherished  guests,  with  eager  hospitality  and  confiding 
kindness.  Generously  and  freely  did  they  share  with  yoi> 
their  comforts,  their  treasures,  and  their  homes;  you  repaid 
them  by  fraud,  oppression,  and  dishonor. 


SIXTH  HEADER.  131 

Pizarro,  hear  me !  Hear  me,  chieftains !  And  thou, 
All-powerful !  whose  thunder  can  shiver  into  sand  the  ada- 
mantine rock,  whose  lightnings  can  pierce  the  core  of  the 
riven  and  quaking  earth,  oh  let  thy  power  give  effect  to 
thy  servant's  words,  as  thy  Spirit  gives  courage  to  his  will! 
Do  not,  I  implore  you,  chieftains,  —  do  not,  I  implore  you, 
renew  the  foul  barbarities  your  insatiate  avarice  has  in- 
flicted on  this  wretched,  unoffending  race.  But  hush,  my 
sighs !  fall  not,  ye  drops  of  useless  sorrow !  heart-breaking 
anguish,  choke  not  my  utterance. 

— R.  B.  Sheridan. 
Note, — Examples  of  aeries.     See  p.  28. 


III.  ACTION  AND  REPOSE. 

John   Ruskin,  1819 ,  is   a   distinguished    English   art   critic   and 

author.  He  is  Professor  of  the  Fine  Arts  at  Oxford  University.  His 
writings  are  very  numerous,  and  are  noted  for  their  eloquent  and 
brilliant  style. 

About  the  river  of  human  life  there  is  a  wintry  wind, 
though  a  heavenly  sunshine ;  the  iris  colors  its  agitation, 
the  frost  fixes  upon  its  repose.  Let  us  beware  that  our 
rest  become  not  the  rest  of  stones,  which,  so  long  as  they 
are  tempest-tossed  and  thunder-stricken,  maintain  their  maj- 
esty; but  when  the  stream  is  silent  and  the  storm  passed, 
suffer  the  grass  to  cover  them,  and  are  plowed  into  the 
dust. 


IV.  TIME  AND  CHANGE. 

Sir  Humphry  Davy,  1778-1829,  was  an  eminent  chemist  of  England. 
He  made  many  important  chemical  discoveries,  and  was  the  inventor 
of  the  miner's  safety -lamp. 

Time  is  almost  a  human  word,  and  Change  entirely  a 
human  idea ;  in  the  system  of  nature,  we  should  rather 
say  progress  than  change.  The  sun  appears  to  sink  in  the 
ocean  in  darkness,  but  it  rises  in  another  hemisphere ;    the 


132  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

ruins  of  a  city  fall,  but  they  are  often  used  to  form  more 
magnificent  structures:  even  when  they  are  destroyed  so 
as  to  produce  only  dust,  Nature  asserts  her  empire  over 
them;  and  the  vegetable  world  rises  in  constant  youth,  in 
a  period  of  annual  successions,  by  the  labors  of  man  — 
providing  food,  vitality,  and  beauty  —  upon  the  wrecks  of 
monuments  which  were  raised  for  the  purposes  of  glory, 
but  which  are  now  applied  to  objects  of  utility. 

V.  THE   POET. 

■William  Ellery  Channing,  1780-1842,  was  a  distinguished  clergyman 
and  orator.  He  took  a  leading  part  in  the  public  affairs  of  liis  daj',  and 
wrote  and  lectured  eloquently  on  several  topics. 

It  is  not  true  that  the  poet  paints  a  life  which  does  not 
exist.  He  only  extracts  and  concentrates,  as  it  were,  life's 
ethereal  essence,  arrests  and  condenses  its  volatile  fragrance, 
brings  together  its  scattered  beauties,  and  prolongs  its  more 
refined  but  evanescent  joys ;  and  in  this  he  does  well,  for 
it  is  good  to  feel  that  life  is  not  wholly  usurped  by  cares 
for  subsistence  and  physical  gratifications,  but  admits,  in 
measures  which  may  be  indefinitely  enlarged,  sentiments 
and  delights  worthy  of  a  higher  being. 

VI.  MOUNTAINS. 

"William  Hewitt,  1795-1879,  was  an  English  author.  He  published 
many  books,  and  was  associated  with  his  wife,  Mary  Howitt,  in  the 
publication  of  many  others. 

There  is  a  charm  connected  with  mountains,  so  powerful 
that  the  merest  mention  of  them,  the  merest  sketch  of 
their  magnificent  features,  kindles  the  imagination,  and 
carries  the  spirit  at  once  into  the  bosom  of  their  en- 
chanted regions.  How^  the  mind  is  filled  with  their  vast 
solitude!  How  the  inward  eye  is  fixed  on  their  silent, 
their   sublime,    their   everlasting   peaks!      How  our    hearts 


SIXTH  READER.  XSS 

bound  to  the  music  of  their  solitary  cries,  to  the  tinkle  of 
their  gushing  rills,  to  the  sound  of  their  cataracts !  How 
inspiriting  are  the  odors  that  breathe  from  the  upland 
turf,  from  the  rock-hung  flower,  from  the  hoary  and  solemn 
pine!  How  beautiful  are  those  lights  and  shadows  thrown 
abroad,  and  that  fine,  transparent  haze  which  is  diffused 
over  the  valleys  and  lower  slopes,  as  over  a  vast,  inimitable 
picture ! 

XXV.    THE    JOLLY    OLD    PEDAGOGUE. 


George  Arnold,  1834-1865,  was  born  in  New  York  City.  He  never 
attended  school,  but  was  educated  at  home,  by  his  parents.  His  liter- 
ary career  occupied  a  period  of  about  twelve  years.  In  this  time  he 
wrote  stories,  essays,  criticisms  in  art  and  literature,  poems,  sketches, 
etc.,  for  sevei'al  periodicals.  Two  volumes  of  his  poems  have  been  pub- 
lished since  his  death. 


'T  WAS  a  jolly  old  pedagogue,  long  ago, 

Tall,  and  slender,  and  sallow,  and  dry; 
His  form  was  bent,  and  his  gait  Avas  slow, 
And  his  long,  thin  hair  Avas  white  as  snow. 

But  a  wonderful  twinkle  shone  in  his  eye : 
And  he  sang  every  night  as  he  went  to  bed, 

"Let  us  be  happy  down  here  below; 
The  living  should  live,  though  the  dead  be  dead," 

Said  the  jolly  old  pedagogue,  long  ago. 

He  taught  the  scholars  the  Eule  of  Three, 

Reading,  and  writing,  and  history  too ; 
He  took  the  little  ones  on  his  knee. 
For  a  kind  old  heart  in  his  breast  had  he. 

And  the  wants  of  the  littlest  child  he  knew. 
"Learn  while  you're  young,"  he  often  said, 

"There  is  much  to  enjoy  down  here  below; 
Life  for  the  living,  and  rest  for  the  dead ! " 

Said  the  jolly  old  pedagogue,  long  ago. 


134  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

With  the  stupidest  boys,  he  was  kind  and  cool, 

Speaking  only  in  gentlest  tones ; 
The  rod  was  scarcely  known  in  his  school  — 
Whipping  to  him  was  a  barbarous  rule, 

And  too  hard  work  for  his  poor  old  bones ; 
Besides  it  was  painful,  he  sometimes  said : 

' '  We  should  make  life  pleasant  down  here  below- 
The  living  need  charity  more  than  the  dead," 

Said  the  jolly  old  pedagogue,  long  ago. 

He  lived  in  the  house  by  the  hawthorn  lane, 

With  roses  and  woodbine  over  the  door; 
His  rooms  were  quiet,  and  neat,  and  plain, 
But  a  spirit  of  comfort  there  held  reign. 
And  made  him  forget  he  was  old  and  poor. 
"  I  need  so  little,"  he  often  said ; 

-  "And  my  friends  and  relatives  here  below 
Won't  litigate  over  me  when  I  am  dead," 
Said  the  jolly  old  pedagogue,  long  ago. 

But  the  pleasantest  times  he  had  of  all, 

Were  the  sociable  hours  he  used  to  pass. 
With  his  chair  tipped  back  to  a  neighbor's  wall, 
Making  an  unceremonious  call. 

Over  a  pipe  and  a  friendly  glass: 
This  was  the  finest  pleasure,  he  said, 

Of  the  many  he  tasted  here  below: 
"  Who  has  no  cronies  had  better  be  dead," 

Said  the  jolly  old  pedagogue,  long  ago. 

The  jolly  old  pedagogue's  wrinkled  face 

Melted  all  over  in  sunshiny  smiles ; 
He  stirred  his  glass  with  an  old-school  grace, 
Chuckled,  and  sipped,  and  prattled  apace. 

Till  the  house  grew  merry  from  cellar  to  tiles. 


SIXTH  HEADER.  135 

I 'm  a  pretty  old  man,"  he  gently  said, 
"  I  've  lingered  a  long  time  here  below ; 

But  my  heart  is  fresh,  if  my  youth  is  fled !  " 
Said  the  jolly  old  pedagogue,  long  ago. 

He  smoked  his  pij)e  in  the  balmy  air 

Every  night,  when  the  sun  went  down ; 
And  the  soft  wind  played  in  his  silvery  hair, 
Leaving  its  tenderest  kisses  there. 

On  the  jolly  old  pedagogue's  jolly  old  crown; 
And  feeling  the  kisses,  he  smiled,  and  said : 

"  'T  is  a  glorious  world  down  here  below ; 
Why  wait  for  happiness  till  we  are  dead?" 

Said  this  jolly  old  pedagogue,  long  ago. 

He  sat  at  his  door  one  midsummer  night, 

After  the  sun  had  sunk  in  the  Avest, 
And  the  lingering  beams  of  golden  light 
Made  his  kindly  old  face  look  warm  and  bright, 

While  the  odorous  night-Avinds  whispered,  "Rest!" 
Gently,  gently,  he  bowed  his  head ; 

There  were  angels  waiting  for  him,  I  know; 
He  was  sure  of  his  happiness,  living  or  dead, 

This  jolly  old  pedagogue,  long  ago ! 


XXVI.    THE    TEACHER   AND    SICK    SCHOLAR. 

Shortly  after  the  school-master  had  arranged  the  forms 
and  taken  his  seat  behind  his  desk,  a  small  white-headed 
boy  Avith  a  sunburnt  face  appeared  at  the  door,  and,  stop- 
ping there  to  make  a  rustic  boAV,  came  in  and  took  his 
seat  upon  one  of  the  forms.  He  then  put  an  open  book, 
astonishingly   dog's-eared,    upon    his    knees,    and,   thrusting 


136  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

his  hands  into  his  pockets,  began  counting  the  marbles 
with  which  they  were  filled ;  displaying,  in  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face,  a  remarkable  capacity  of  totally  abstract- 
ing his  mind  from  the  spelling  on  which  his  eyes  were 
fixed. 

Soon  afterward,  another  Avhite-headeji^Jittle  boy  came 
straggling  in,  and  after  him,  a  red-headed  lad,  and  then 
one  with  a  flaxen  poll,  until  the  forms  were  occupied  by 
a  dozen  boys,  or  thereabouts,  with  heads  of  every  color 
but  gray,  and  ranging  in  their  ages  from  four  years  old 
to  fourteen  years  or  more;  for  the  legs  of  the  youngest 
were  a  long  way  from  the  floor,  when  he  sat  upon  the 
form ;  and  the  eldest  was  a  heavy,  good-temi)ered  fellow, 
about  half  a  head  taller  than  the  school-master. 

At  the  top  of  the  first  form  —  the  post  of  honor  in  the 
school  —  Avas  the  vacant  place  of  the  little  sick  scholar; 
and,  at  the  head  of  the  row  of  pegs,  on  which  those  who 
wore  hats  or  caps  were  wont  to  hang  them,  one  was 
empty.  No  boy  attempted  to  violate  the  sanctity  of  seat 
or  peg,  but  many  a  one  looked  from  the  empty  spaces 
to  the  school-master,  and  whispered  to  his  idle  neighbor,  • 
behind  his  hand. 

Then  began  the  hum  of  conning  over  lessons  and  get- 
ting them  by  heart,  the  whispered  jest  and  stealthy  game, 
and  all  the  noise  and  drawl  of  school ;  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  din,  sat  the  poor  school-master,  vainly  attempt- 
ing to  fix  his  mind  upon  the  duties  of  the  day,  and 
to  forget  his  little  sick  friend.  But  the  tedium  of  his 
office  reminded  him  more  strongly  of  the  willing  scholar, 
and  his  thoughts  were  rambling  from  his  pupils  —  it  was 
plain. 

None  knew  this  better  than  the  idlest  boys,  who,  grow- 
ing bolder  with  impunity,  waxed  louder  and  more  daring; 
playing  "odd  or  even"  under  the  master's  eye;  eating  ap- 
ples openly  and  without  rebuke ;  pinching  each  other  in 
sport    or   malice,    without    the    least    reserve;    and   cutting 


SIXTH  READER.  137 

their  uiitials  in  the  very  legs  of  his  desk.  The  puzzled 
duuce,  who  stood  beside  it  to  say  his  lesson  "off  the 
book,"  looked  no  longer  at  the  ceiling  for  forgotten  words, 
but  drew  closer  to  the  master's  elbow,  and  boldly  cast  his 
eye  upon  the  page ;  the  wag  of  the  little  troop  squinted 
and  made  grimaces  (at  the  smallest  boy,  of  course),  hold- 
ing no  book  before  his  face,  and  his  approving  companions 
knew  no  constraint  in  their  delight.  If  the  master  did 
chance  to  rouse  himself,  and  seem  alive  to  what  was  going 
on,  the  noise  subsided  for  a  moment,  and  no  eye  met  his 
but  wore  a  studious  and  deeply  humble  look;  but  the 
instant  he  relapsed  again,  it  broke  out  afresh,  and  ten 
times  louder  than  before. 

Oh !  how  some  of  those  idle  fellows  longed  to  be  outside, 
and  how  they  looked  at  the  open  door  and  window,  as  if 
they  half  meditated  rushing  violently  out,  plunging  into 
the  woods,  and  being  wild  boys  and  savages  from  that 
time  forth.  What  rebellious  thoughts  of  the  cool  river, 
and  somB  shady  bathing-place,  beneath  willow  trees  with 
branches  dipping  in  the  water,  kept  tempting  and  urging 
that  sturdy  boy,  who,  Avith  his  shirt-collar  unbuttoned,  and 
flung  back  as  far  as  it  could  go,  sat  fanning  his  flushed 
face  with  a  spelling-book,  wishing  himself  a  whale,  or  a 
minnow,  or  a  fly,  or  any  thing  but  a  boy  at  school,  on 
that  hot,  broiliug  day. 

Heat!  ask  that  other  boy,  whose  seat  being  nearest  to 
the  door,  gave  him  opportunities  of  gliding  out  into  the 
garden,  and  driving  his  companions  to  madness,  by  dipping 
his  face  into  the  bucket  of  the  well,  and  then  rolling  on 
the  grass, — ask  him  if  there  was  ever  such  a  day  as  that, 
when  even  the  bees  were  diving  deep  down  into  the  cups 
of  the  flowers,  and  stopping  there,  as  if  they  had  made  up 
their  minds  to  retire  from  business,  and  be  manufacturers 
of  honey  no  more.  The  day  was  made  for  laziness,  and 
lying  on  one's  back  in  green  places,  and  staring  at  the 
sky,  till   its   brightness   forced    the   gazer  to   shut   his   eyes 

6— 12. 


138  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

and  go  to  sleep.  And  was  this  a  time  to  be  poring  over 
musty  books  in  a  dark  room,  slighted  by  the  very  sun 
itself  ?     Monstrous ! 

The  lessons  over,  writing  time  began.  This  was  a  more 
quiet  time ;  for  the  master  would  come  and  look  over  the 
writer's  shoulder,  and  mildly  tell  him  to  observe  how  such 
a  letter  Avas  turned  up,  in  such  a  copy  on  the  wall,  which 
had  been  written  by  their  sick  companion,  and  bid  him 
take  it  as  a  model.  Then  he  would  stop  and  tell  them 
what  the  sick  child  had  said  last  night,  and  how  he  had 
longed  to  be  among  them  once  again ;  and  such  was  the 
poor  school-master's  gentle  and  affectionate  manner,  that 
the  boys  seemed  quite  remorseful  that  they  had  worried 
him  so  much,  and  were  absolutely  quiet;  eating  no  apples, 
cutting  no  names,  and  making  no  grimaces  for  full  two 
minutes  afterward. 

"I  think,  boys,"  said  the  school-master,  when  the  clock 
struck  twelve,  "that  I  shall  give  you  an  extra  half-holiday 
this  afternoon."  At  this  intelligence,  the  boys,  led  on  and 
headed  by  the  tall  boy,  raised  a  great  shout,  in  the  midst 
of  which  the  master  was  seen  to  speak,  but  could  not  be 
heard.  As  he  held  uj?  his  hand,  however,  in  token  of 
his  wish  that  they  should  be  silent,  they  were  considerate 
enough  to  leave  off,  as  soon  as  the  longest-Avinded  among 
them  were  quite  out  of  breath.  "  You  must  promise  me, 
first,"  said  the  school-master,  "that  you'll  not  be  noisy,  or 
at  least,  if  you  are,  that  you  '11  go  away  first,  out  of  the 
village,  I  mean.  I  'm  sure  you  would  n't  disturb  your  old 
playmate  and  companion." 

There  was  a  general  murmur  (and  perhaps  a  very  sin- 
cere one,  for  they  were  but  boys)  in  the  negative ;  and 
the  tall  boy,  perhaps  as  sincerely  as  any  of  them,  called 
those  about  him  to  witness,  that  he  had  only  shouted  in 
a  whisper.  "Then  pray  don't  forget,  there's  my  dear 
scholars,"  said  the  school-master,  "what  I  have  asked  you, 
and   do   it   as   a   favor  to   me.     Be   as   happy  as   you  can, 


SIXTH  READER.  139 

and  do  n't  be  unmindful  that  you  are  blessed  with  health, 
Good-by,  aU." 

" Thank 'ee,  sir,"  and  "Good-by,  sir,"  were  said  a  great 
many  times  in  a  great  variety  of  voices,  and  the  boys 
went  out  very  slowly  and  softly.  But  there  was  the  sun 
shining  and  there  were  birds  singing,  as  the  sun  only 
shines  and  the  birds  only  sing  on  holidays  and  half-holi- 
days ;  there  were  the  trees  waving  to  all  free  boys  to 
climb,  and  nestle  among  their  leafy  branches ;  the  hay, 
entreating  them  to  come  and  scatter  it  to  the  pure  air ; 
the  green  corn,  gently  beckoning  toward  wood  and  stream ; 
the  smooth  ground,  rendered  smoother  still  by  blending 
lights  and  shadows,  inviting  to  runs  and  leaps,  and  long 
walks,  nobody  knows  whither.  It  was  more  than  boy 
could  bear,  and  with  a  joyous  whoop,  the  whole  cluster 
took  to  their  heels,  and  spread  themselves  about,  shout- 
ing and  laughing  as  they  went.  "'Tis  natural,  thank 
Heaven!"  said  the  poor  school-master,  looking  after  them: 
"I  am  very  glad  they  didn't  mind  me." 

Toward  night,  the  school-master  walked  over  to  the  cot- 
tage where  his  little  friend  lay  sick.  Knocking  gently  at 
the  cottage  door,  it  was  opened  without  loss  of  time.  He 
entered  a  room  where  a  group  of  women  were  gathered 
about  one  who  was  wringing  her  hands  and  crying  bitterly. 
"O  dame!"  said  the  school-master,  drawing  near  her  chair, 
is  it  so  bad  as  this?"  Without  replying,  she  pointed  to 
another  room,  which  the  school-master  immediately  entered; 
and  there  lay  his  little  friend,  half-dressed,  stretched  upon 
a  bed. 

He  was  a  very  young  boy ;  quite  a  little  child.  His 
hair  still  hung  in  curls  about  his  face,  and  his  eyes  were 
very  bright;  but  their  light  was  of  heaven,  not  of  earth. 
The  school-master  took  a  seat  beside  him,  and,  stooping 
over  the  pillow,  whispered  his  name.  The  boy  sprung  up, 
stroked  his  face  with  his  hand,  and  threw  his  wasted 
arms  around   his  neck,  crying,  that  he  was  his  dear,  kind 


140  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

friend.  "I  hope  I  always  was.  I  meant  to  be,  God 
knows,"  said  the  poor  school-master.  ' '  You  remember  my 
garden,  Henry?"  whispered  the  old  man,  anxious  to  rouse 
him,  for  a  dullness  seemed  gathering  upon  the  cliild,  "and 
how  pleasant  it  used  to  be  in  the  evening-time?  You 
must  make  haste  to  visit  it  again,  for  I  think  the  very 
flowers  have  missed  you,  and  are  less  gay  than  they  used 
to  be.     You  will  come  soon,  very  soon  now,  won't  you?" 

The  boy  smiled  faintly  —  so  very,  very  faintly  —  and  put 
his  hand  upon  his  friend's  gray  head.  He  moved  his  lips 
too,  but  no  voice  came  from  them,  —  no,  not  a  sound.  In 
the  silence  that  ensued,  the  hum  of  distant  voices,  borne 
upon  the  evening  air,  came  floating  through  the  open 
Avindow.  "What's  that?"  said  the  sick  child,  opening  his 
eyes.  "The  boys  at  play,  upon  the  green."  He  took  a 
handkerchief  from  his  pillow,  and  tried  to  wave  it  above 
his  head.  But  the  feeble  arm  dropped  powerless  down. 
"Shall  I  do  it?"  said  the  school-master.  "Please  wave  it 
at  the  window,"  was  the  faint  reply.  "Tie  it  to  the 
lattice.  Some  of  them  may  see  it  there.  Perliaps  they  '11 
think  of  me,  and  look  this  way." 

He  raised  his  head  and  glanced  from  the  fluttering  sig- 
nal to  his  idle  bat,  that  lay,  with  slate,  and  book,  and 
other  boyish  property,  upon  the  table  in  the  room.  And 
then  he  laid  him  softly  down  once  more;  and  again  clasped 
his  little  arms  around  the  old  man's  neck.  The  two  old 
friends  and  companions  —  for  such  they  were,  though  they 
were  man  and  child  —  held  each  other  in  a  long  embrace, 
and  then  the  little  scholar  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and 
fell  asleep. 

The  poor  school-master  sat  in  the  same  place,  holding 
the  small,  cold  hand  in  his,  and  chafing  it.  It  was  but 
the  hand  of  a  dead  child.  He  felt  that;  and  yet  he 
chafed  it  still,  and  could  not  lay  it  down. 

From  '■'■Tlie  Old  CunosiUj  Shop,^^  by  Dickens. 


1 


SIXTH  READER.  141 


XXVII.    THE    SNOW-SHOWER. 

William  Cullen  Bryant,  1794-1878,  was  the  son  of  Peter  Bryant,  a 
physician  of  Cummington,  Massachusetts.  Amid  the  beautiful  scenery 
of  this  remote  country  town,  the  poet  was  born;  and  here  he  passed 
his  early  youth.  At  the  age  of  sixteen,  Bryant  entered  Williams  Col- 
lege, but  was  honorably  dismissed  at  the  end  of  two  years.  He  then 
entered  on  tlie  study  of  law,  and  was  admitted  to  tlie  bar  at  the  age 
of  twenty-one.  He  practiced  his  profession,  with  much  success,  for 
about  nine  years.  In  1826,  he  removed  to  New  York,  and  became  con- 
nected with  the  "  Evening  Post,"  a  connection  which  continued  to 
the  time  of  his  death.  For  more  than  thirty  of  the  last  years  of 
his  life,  Mr.  Bryant  made  his  home  near  Roslyn,  Long  Island,  where 
he  occupied  an  "old-time  mansion,"  which  he  bought,  fitted  np,  and 
surrounded  in  accordance  with  his  excellent  rural  taste.  A  poem  of 
his,  written  at  the  age  of  ten  years,  was  published  in  the  "County 
Gazette,"  and  two  poems  of  considerable  length  were  published  in  book 
form,  wlien  the  author  was  only  fourteen.  "  Thanatopsis,"  perhaps  the 
best  known  of  all  his  jjoems,  was  written  when  he  was  but  nineteen. 
But,  notwithstanding  his  precocity,  his  powers  continued  to  a  remark- 
able age.  His  excellent  translations  of  the  "Iliad"  and  the  "Odyssey," 
together  with  some  of  his  best  poems,  were  accomplished  after  the  poet 
had  passed  the  age  of  seventy.  jSIr.  Bryant  visited  Europe  several 
times;  and,  in  1849,  he  continued  his  travels  into  Egypt  and  Syria. 
Abroad,  he  was  received  with  many  marks  of  distinction ;  and  he 
added  much  to  his  extensive  knowledge  by  studying  the  literature  of 
the  countries  he  visited. 

All  his  poems  exhibit  a  peculiar  love,  and  a  careful  study,  of  na- 
ture; and  his  language,  both  in  prose  and  poetry,  is  always  chaste, 
elegant,  and  correct.  His  mind  was  well-balanced;  and  his  personal 
character  was  one  to  be  admired,  loved,  and  imitated. 


Stand  here  by  my  side  and  turn,  I  pray, 
On  the  lake  below  thy  gentle  eyes ; 

The  clouds  hang  over  it,  heavy  and  gray, 
And  dark  and  silent  the  water  lies ; 

And  out  of  that  frozen  mist  the  snow 

In  wavering  flakes  begins  to  flow ; 

Flake  after  flake 

They  sink  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

See  how  in  a  living  swarm  they  come 

From  the  chambers  beyond  that  misty  veil; 


142  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Some  hover  in  air  awhile,  and  some 

Rush  prone  from  the  sky  like  summer  hail. 
All,  dropping  swiftly,  or  settling  slow, 
Meet,  and  are  still  in  the  depths  below ; 

Flake  after  flake 
Dissolved  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

Here  delicate  snow-stars,  out  of  the  cloud. 
Come  floating  downward  in  airy  play. 

Like  spangles  dropped  from  the  glistening  crowd 
That  Avhiten  by  night  the  Milky  Way; 

There  broader  and  burlier  masses  faU ; 

The  sullen  water  buries  them  all, — 

Flake  after  flake, — 

All  drowned  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

And  some,  as  on  tender  wings  they  glide 
From  their  chilly  birth-cloud,  dim  and  gray, 

Are  joined  in  their  fall,  and,  side  by  side, 
Come  clinging  along  their  unsteady  way; 

As  friend  with  friend,  or  husband  with  wife, 

Makes  hand  in  hand  the  passage  of  life ; 
Each  mated  flake 

Soon  sinks  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

Lo !  while  we  are  gazing,  in  swifter  haste 
Stream  down  the  snows,  till  the  air  is  white, 

As,  myriads  by  myriads  madly  chased, 

They  fling   themselves  from  their  shadowy  height. 

The  fair,  frail  creatures  of  middle  sky. 

What  speed  they  make,  with  their  grave  so  nigh  ; 
Flake  after  flake 

To  lie  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 


SIXTH  READER.  I43 

I  see  in  thy  gentle  eyes  a  tear; 

They  turn  to  me  in  sorrowful  thought ; 
Thou  thinkest  of  friends,  the  good  and  dear, 

Who  were  for  a  time,  and  now  are  not; 
Like  these  fair  children  of  cloud  and  frost. 
That  glisten  a  moment  and  then  are  lost, — 

Flake  after  flake, — 
All  lost  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

Yet  look  again,  for  the  clouds  divide ; 

A  gleam  of  blue  on  the  water  lies ; 
And  far  away,  on  the  mountain-side, 

A  sunbeam  falls  from  the  opening  skies. 
But  the  hurrying  host  that  flew  between 
The  cloud  and  the  water  no  more  is  seen  ; 

Flake  after  flake 
At  rest  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 


XXVIII.    CHARACTER    OF    NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

Charles  Phillips,  1787-1859,  an  eminent  barrister  and  orator,  was 
born  in  Sligo,  Ireland,  and  died  in  London.  He  gained  much  of  his 
reputation  as  an  advocate  in  criminal  cases.  In  his  youth  he  pub- 
lished some  verses ;  later  in  life  he  became  the  author  of  several  works, 
chiefly  of  biography. 

He  is  fallen !  We  may  now  pause  before  that  splendid 
prodigy,  which  towered  among  us  like  some  ancient  ruin, 
whose  power  terrified  the  glance  its  magnificence  attracted. 
Grand,  gloomy,  and  peculiar,  he  sat  upon  the  throne  a 
sceptered  hermit,  wrapt  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  origi- 
nality. A  mind,  bold,  independent,  and  decisive ;  a  will, 
despotic  in  its  dictates ;  an  energy  that  distanced  expedi- 
tion ;  and  a  conscience,  pliable  to  every  touch  of  interest, 
marked   the  outlines  of  this  extraordinary  character — the 


144  ECLECTIC  SEBIES. 

most  extraordinaiy,  perhaps,  that  in  tlie  annals  of  this 
world  ever  rose,  or  reigned,  or  fell. 

Flung  into  life  in  the  midst  of  a  revolution  that  quick- 
ened every  energy  of  a  j)eople  Avho  acknowledged  no  su- 
perior, he  commenced  his  course,  a  stranger  by  birth, 
and  a  scholar  by  charit3\  With  no  friend  but  his  sword, 
and  no  fortune  but  his  talents,  he  rushed  into  the  lists 
where  rank,  and  wealth,  and  genius  had  arrayed  them- 
selves, and  competition  fled  from  him,  as  from  the  glance 
of   destiny. 

He  knew  no  motive  but  interest;  acknowledged  no  crite- 
rion but  success;  he  worshiped  no  God  but  ambition;  and, 
with  an  eastern  devotion,  he  knelt  at  the  slu'ine  of  his 
idolatry.  Subsidiary  to  this,  there  was  no  creed  that  he 
did  not  profess,  there  was  no  opinion  that  he  did  not 
promulgate :  in  the  hope  of  a  dynasty,  he  upheld  the  cres- 
cent; for  the  sake  of  a  divorce,  he  bowed  before  the  cross; 
the  orphan  of  St.  Louis,  he  became  the  adopted  child  of 
the  Republic ;  and,  with  a  parricidal  ingratitude,  on  the 
ruins  both  of  the  throne  and  the  tribune,  he  reared  the 
throne  of  his  despotism.  A  professed  Catholic,  he  impris- 
oned the  Pope;  a  pretended  patriot,  he  impoverished  the 
country;  and  in  the  name  of  Brutus,  he  grasped  with- 
out remorse,  and  wore  without  shame,  the  diadem  of  the 
Coesars. 

The  whole  continent  trembled  at  beholding  the  audacity 
of  his  designs,  and  the  miracle  of  their  execution.  Skep- 
ticism bowed  to  the  prodigies  of  his  performance;  romance 
assumed  the  air  of  history ;  nor  was  there  aught  too  in- 
credible for  belief,  or  too  fanciful  for  expectation,  when  the 
world  saw  a  subaltern  of  Corsica  waving  his  imperial  flag 
over  her  most  ancient  capitals.  All  the  visions  of  antiquity 
became  commonplace  in  his  contemplation:  kings  were  his 
people ;  nations  were  his  outposts ;  and  he  disposed  of 
courts,  and  crowns,  and  camps,  and  churches,  and  cabi- 
nets, as   if  they  were   the  titular  dignitaries   of  the   chess- 


SIXTH  READER.  145 

board!  Amid  aijl  these  eliauges,  he  stood  immutable  as 
adamant.  It  mattered  little  whether  in  the  field,  or  in  the 
drawing-room;  with  the  mob,  or  the  levee;  wearing  the 
Jacobin  bonnet,  or  the  iron  crown ;  banishing  a  Braganza, 
or  espousing  a  Hapsburg ;  dictating  peace  on  a  raft  to  the 
Czar  of  Russia,  or  contemplating  defeat  at  the  gallows  of 
Leipsic;  he  w^as  still  the  same  military  despot. 

In  this  wondei'ful  combination,  his  affectations  of  litera- 
ture must  not  be  omitted.  The  jailer  of  the  press,  he 
affected  the  patronage  of  letters ;  the  proscriber  of  books, 
he  encouraged  philosophy ;  the  persecutor  of  authors,  and 
the  murderer  of  printers,  he  yet  pretended  to  the  protec- 
tion of  learning;  the  assassin  of  Palm,  the  silencer  of 
De  Stael,  and  the  denouncer  of  Kotzebue,  he  was  the 
friend  of  David,  the  benefactor  of  De  Lille,  and  sent  his 
academic  prize  to  the  philosopher  of  England. 

Such  a  medley  of  contradictions,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
such  an  individual  consistency,  Avere  never  united  in  the 
same  character.  A  royalist,  a  republican,  and  an  em- 
peror ;  a  Mohammedan,  a  Catholic,  and  a  patron  of  the 
synagogue ;  a  subaltern  and  a  sovereign ;  a  traitor  and  a 
tyrant;  a  Christian  and  an  infidel;  he  was,  through  all 
his  vicissitudes,  the  same  stern,  impatient,  inflexible  orig- 
inal; the  same  mysterious,  incomprehensible  self;  the  man 
without  a  model,  and  Avithout  a  shadow. 

Notes. — St.  Louis  (b.  1215,  d.  1270),  a  wise  and  pious  kiug 
of  France,  known  as  Louis  IX.  Napoleon  was  appointed  to 
the  Military  School  at  Brienne,  by  Louis  XVI.  Brutus, 
Lucius  Junius,  abolished  the  royal  office  at  Rome  (509  B.  C), 
and  ruled  as  consul  for  two  years. 

Jacobin  Bonnet.  —  The  Jacobins  were  a  powerful  political 
club  during  the  first  French  Revolution.  A  peculiar  bonnet 
or  hat  was  their  badge.  Braganza,  the  name  of  the  royal 
family  of  Portugal.  Maria  of  Portugal,  and  her  father,  Charles 
IV.  of  Spain,  were  both  expelled  by  Napoleon.  Hapsburg, 
the  name  of  the  royal  family  of  Austria.     Napoleon's  second 


146  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

wife  was  Maria  Louisa,  the  daughter  of  the  Emperor.  Czar. — 
The  treaty  of  Tilsit  was  agreed  to'  between  Bonaparte  and  the 
Czar  Alexander  on  the  river  Memel.  Leipsic. — Napoleon  was 
defeated  by  the  allied  forces,  in  October,  1813,  at  this  city. 

Palm,  a  German  j^ublisher,  shot,  in  1806,  by  order  of 
Napoleon,  for  publishing  a  pamphlet  against  him.  De  Stael 
(pro.  De  Stal),  a  celebrated  French  authoress,  banished 
from  Paris,  in  1802,  by  Napoleon.  Kotzebue,  an  eminent 
German  dramatist.  David,  the  leading  historical  painter  of 
his  times  in  France.  De  Lille,  an  eminent  French  poet 
and  professor. 


XXIX.    NAPOLEON   AT   REST. 


John  Pierpont,  1785-1866,  was  born  in  Litchfield,  Connecticut,  and 
Rraduated  from  Yale  College  in  1804.  Tlie  next  four  years  he  spent  as  a 
private  tutor  in  the  familj'  of  Col.  William  Allston,  of  South  Carolina. 
On  his  return,  lie  studied  law  in  the  law  school  of  his  native  town. 
He  entered  upon  practice,  but  soon  left  the  law  for  mercantile  pursuits, 
in  which  he  was  unsuccessful.  Having  studied  theology  at  Cambridge, 
in  1819  he  wa.s  ordained  pastor  of  the  HoUis  Street  Unitarian  Church, 
in  Boston,  where  he  continued  nearly  twenty  years.  He  afterwards 
preached  four  years  for  a  church  in  Troy,  New  York,  and  then  removed 
to  Medford,  Massachusetts.  At  the  age  of  seventy-six,  he  became  chap- 
lain of  a  Massachusetts  regiment ;  hut,  on  account  of  infirmity,  was 
soon  obliged  to  give  up  tlie  position.  Mr.  Pierpont  publislied  a  .series 
of  school  readers,  which  enjoyed  a  well-deserved  popularity  for  nuiny 
years. 

His  poetry  is  smooth,  musical,  and  vigorous.  Most  of  his  pieces 
were  written  for  special  occasions. 


His  falchion  flashed  along  the  Nile; 

His  hosts  he  led  through  Alpine  snows; 
O'er  Moscow's  towers,  that  blazed  the  while, 

His  eagle  flag  unrolled, — and  froze. 
Here  sleeps  he  now,  alone !     Not  one 

Of  all  the  kings,  whose  crowns  he  gave, 
Bends  o'er  his  dust ;  —  nor  wife  nor  son 

Has  ever  seen  or  sought  his  grave. 


SIXTH  READER.  147 

Behind  this  sea-girt  rock,  the  star, 

That  led  him  on  from  crown  to  crown, 
Has  sunk ;  and  nations  from  afar 

Gazed  as  it  faded  and  went  down. 
High  is  his  couch; — the  ocean  flood, 

Far,  far  below,  by  storms  is  curled ; 
As  round  him  heaved,  while  high  he  stood, 

A  stormy  and  unstable  world. 

Alone  he  sleeps!     The  mountain  cloud. 

That  night  hangs  round  him,  and  the  breath 
Of  morning  scatters,  is  the  shroud 

That  wraps  the  conqueror's  clay  in  death. 
Pause  here !     The  far-off  world,  at  last. 

Breathes  free ;  the  hand  that  shook  its  thrones. 
And  to  the  earth  its  miters  cast. 

Lies  powerless  now  beneath  these  stones. 

Hark!  comes  there  from  the  pyramids. 

And  fi'om  Siberian  wastes  of  snow, 
And  Europe's  hills,  a  voice  that  bids 

The  world  he  awed  to  mourn  him  ?     No : 
The  only,  the  perpetual  dirge 

That's  heard  there  is  the  sea-bird's  cry, — 
The  mournful  murmur  of  the  surge, — 

The  cloud's  deep  voice,  the  Avind's  low  sigh. 


Note. — Sea-girt  rock,  the  island  of  St.  Helena,  is  in  the 
Atlantic  Ocean,  nearly  midway  between  Africa  and  South 
America.  Napoleon  was  confined  on  this  island  six  years, 
until  1821,  when  he  died  and  was  buried  there.  In  1841, 
his  remains  were   removed    to  Paris. 


148  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


XXX.   WAR. 


Charles  Sumner,  1811-1874.  The  father  of  Charles  Sumner  was  sheriflf 
of  the  county  of  Suflblk,  Massachusetts,  for  several  years.  His  son, 
Charles,  was  born  in  Boston,  studied  at  the  Latin  school  in  his  native 
city,  graduated  from  Harvard  Universitj^  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  studied 
law  at  the  same  institution,  and  was  admitted  to  practice  in  1831.  He 
at  once  took  a  prominent  position  in  his  profession,  lectured  to  the 
law  classes  at  Cambridge  for  several  successive  years,  wrote  and  edited 
several  standard  law  books,  and  might  have  had  a  professorship  in  the 
law  school,  had  he  desired  it.  In  his  famous  address  on  "The  True 
Grandeur  of  Nations,"  delivered  July  4,  1845,  before  the  municipal 
authorities  of  Boston,  he  took  strong  grounds  against  war  among  na- 
tions. In  1851,  he  was  elected  to  the  United  States  Senate,  and  con- 
tinued in  that  position  till  his  death.  As  a  jurist,  as  a  statesman,  as 
an  orator,  and  a.s  a  profound  and  scholarly  writer,  Mr.  Sumner  stands 
high  in  tlie  estimation  of  his  countrymen.  In  physical  appearance, 
Mr.  Sumner  was  grand  and  imposing;  men  often  turned  to  gaze  after 
him,  as  lie  passed  along  the  streets  of  his  native  city. 


I  NEED  not  dwell  now  on  the  waste  and  cruelty  of  war. 
These  stare  us  wildly  in  the  face,  like  lurid  meteor-lights, 
as  we  travel  the  page  of  history.  We  see  the  desolation 
and  death  that  pursue  its  demoniac  footsteps.  We  look 
upou  sacked  towns,  upon  ravaged  territories,  upon  violated 
homes;  we  behold  all  the  sweet  charities  of  life  changed 
to  wormwood  and  gall.  Our  soul  is  penetrated  by  the 
sharp  moan  of  mothers,  sisters,  and  daughters  —  of  fathers, 
brothers,  and  sons,  who,  in  the  bitterness  of  their  bereave- 
ment, refuse  to  be  comforted.  Our  eyes  rest  at  last  upon 
one  of  these  fair  fields,  where  Nature,  in  her  abundance, 
spreads  her  cloth  of  gold,  spacious  and  apt  for  the  en- 
tertainment of  mighty  multitudes  —  or,  perhaps,  from  the 
curious  subtlety  of  its  position,  like  the  carpet  in  the 
Arabian  tale,  seeming  to  contract  so  as  to  be  covered  by 
a  few  only,  or  to  dilate  so  as  to  receive  an  innumerable 
host.  Here,  under  a  bright  sun,  such  as  shone  at  Auster- 
litz  or  Bueua  Vista  —  amidst  the  peaceful  harmonies  of 
nature  —  on  the  Sabbath  of  peace  —  we  behold  bands  of 
brothers,  children  of  a  common  Father,  heirs  to  a  common 


SIXTH  READER.  149 

happiness,  struggling  together  in  the  deadly  fight,  with  the 
madness  of  fallen  spirits,  seeking  with  murderous  weapons 
the  lives  of  brothers  who  have  never  injured  them  or  their 
kindred.  The  havoc  rages.  The  ground  is  soaked  with 
their  commingling  blood.  The  air  is  rent  by  their  com- 
mingling cries.  Horse  and  rider  are  stretched  together  on 
the  earth.  More  revolting  than  the  mangled  victims,  than 
the  gashed  limbs,  than  the  lifeless  trunks,  than  the  spatter- 
ing brains,  are  the  lawless  passions  which  sweep,  tempest- 
like, through  the  fiendish  tumult. 

Horror-struck,  we  ask,  wherefore  this  hateful  contest? 
The  melancholy,  but  truthful  ansAver  comes,  that  this 
is  the  established  method  of  determining  justice  between 
nations ! 

The  scene  changes.  Far  away  on  the  distant  pathway 
of  the  ocean  two  ships  approach  each  other,  with  white 
canvas  broadly  spread  to  receive  the  flying  gales.  They 
are  proudly  built.  All  of  human  art  has  been  lavished  in 
their  graceful  proportions,  and  in  their  well  compacted 
sides,  while  they  look  in  their  dimensions  like  floating 
happy  islands  on  the  sea.  A  numerous  crew,  with  costly 
appliances  of  comfort,  hives  in  their  secure  shelter.  Surely 
these  two  travelers  shall  meet  in  joy  and  friendship ;  the 
flag  at  the  mast-head  shall  give  the  signal  of  friendship ; 
the  happy  sailors  shall  cluster  in  the  rigging,  and  even  on 
the  yard-arms,  to  look  each  other  in  the  face,  Avhile  the 
exhilarating  voices  of  both  crews  shall  mingle  in  accents 
of  gladness  uncontrollable.  It  is  not  so.  Not  as  brothers, 
not  as  friends,  not  as  Avayfarers  of  the  common  ocean,  do 
they  come  together ;  but  as  enemies. 

The  gentle  vessels  now  bristle  fiercely  with  death-dealing 
instruments.  On  their  spacious  decks,  aloft  on  all  their 
masts,  flashes  the  deadly  musketry.  From  their  sides  spout 
cataracts  of  flame,  amidst  the  pealing  thunders  of  a  fatal 
artillery.  They,  A\^ho  had  escaped  "the  dreadful  touch  of 
merchant-marring  rocks"  —  who  had  sped  on  their  long  and 


150  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

solitary  way  iinliarmed  by  wind  or  wave  —  whom  the  hur- 
ricane had  spared  —  in  whose  favor  storms  and  seas  had 
intermitted  their  immitigable  war — now  at  last  fall  by  the 
hand  of  each  other.  The  same  spectacle  of  horror  greets 
us  from  both  ships.  On  their  decks,  reddened  with  blood, 
the  murderers  of  St.  Bartholomew  and  of  the  Sicilian  Ves- 
pers, with  the  fires  of  Smithficld,  seem  to  break  forth 
anew,  and  to  concentrate  their  rage.  Each  has  now  be- 
come a  swimming  Golgotha.  At  length,  these  vessels  — 
such  pageants  of  the  sea — once  so  stately  —  so  proudly 
built — but  now  rudely  shattered  by  cannon  balls — with 
shivered  masts  and  ragged  sails — exist  only  as  unman- 
ageable wrecks,  weltering  on  the  uncertain  waves,  whose 
temporary  lull  of  peace  is  now  their  only  safety.  In  amaze- 
ment at  this  strange,  unnatural  contest — away  from  country 
and  home — where  there  is  no  country  or  home  to  defend  — 
we  ask  again,  wherefore  this  dismal  duel?  Again  the  mel- 
ancholy but  truthful  answer  promptly  comes,  that  this 
is  the  established  method  of  determining  justice  between 
nations. 

Notes. — Austerlitz,  a  small  town  in  Austria,  seventy  miles 
north  from  Vienna.  It  is  noted  as  the  site  of  a  battle, 
in  December,  1805,  between  the  allied  Austrian  and  Russian 
armies,  and  the  French  under  Napoleon.  The  latter  were 
victorious.  Buena  Vista,  a  small  hamlet  in  eastern  Mexico, 
where,  in  1847,  five  thousand  Americans,  under  Gen.  Taylor, 
defeated  twenty  thousand  Mexicans,  under  Gen.  Santa  Anna. 

Dreadful  touch. — Quoted  from  Merchant  of  Venice,  Act 
III,  Scene  II. 

St.  Bartholom.e"W. — A  terrible  massacre  took  place  in 
France,  on  St.  Bartholomew's  day,  August  24,  1572.  It  has 
been  estimated  that  twenty  thousand  persons  perished. 

Sicilian  Vespers,  a  revolt  and  uprising  against  the  French 
in  Sicily,  March  30,  1282,  at  the  hour  of  vespers. 

Smithfield,  a  portion  of  London  noted  as  a  place  for 
execution  during  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries. 


SIXTH  HEADER.  151 


XXXI.    SPEECH   OF  WALPOLE   IN    REPROOF  OF   MR.  PITT. 

Sir  Robert  "Walpole,  1(376-1745,  was  educated  at  Eton  and  Cam- 
bridge. He  entered  Parliament  in  1700,  and  soon  became  a  good  de- 
bater and  skillful  tactician.  He  was  prime  minister  of  Great  Britain 
from  1721  to  1742,  in  the  reigns  of  George  I.  and  George  II.  He  was  an 
able  statesman;  but  has  been  accused  of  employing  corruption  or  brib- 
ery on  a  large  scale,  to  control  Parliament  and  accomplish  bis  purposes. 

I  WAS  unwilling  to  interrupt  the  course  of  this  debate, 
while  it  was  carried  on  with  calmness  and  decency,  by  men 
who  do  not  suffer  the  ardor  of  oj)position  to  cloud  their 
reason,  or  transport  them  to  such  expressions  as  the  dignity 
of  this  assembly  does  not  admit. 

I  have  hitherto  deferred  answering  the  gentleman,  who 
declaimed  against  the  bill  with  such  fluency  and  rhetoric, 
and  such  vehemence  of  gesture;  Avho  charged  the  advocates 
for  the  expedients  now  proposed,  with  having  no  regard  to 
any  interests  but  their  own,  and  Avith  making  laws  only  to 
consume  paper,  and  threatened  them  with  the  defection  of 
their  adherents,  and  the  loss  of  their  influence,  ujion  this 
new  discovery  of  their  folly  and  ignorance.  Nor,  do  I  now 
answer  him  for  any  other  purpose  than  to  remind  him 
how  little  the  clamor  of  rage  and  petulancy  of  invective 
contribute  to  the  end  for  which  this  assembly  is  called 
together;  how  little  the  discovery  of  truth  is  promoted, 
and  the  security  of  the  nation  established,  by  pompous 
diction  and  theatrical  emotion. 

Formidable  sounds  and  furious  declamation,  confident 
assertions  and  lofty  periods,  may  afiect  the  young  and  in- 
experienced ;  and  perhaps  the  gentleman  may  have  con- 
tracted his  habits  of  oratory  by  conversing  more  with 
those  of  his  own  age  than  with  such  as  have  more  oppor- 
tunities of  acquiring  knowledge,  and  more  successful  meth- 
ods of  communicating  their  sentiments.  If  the  heat  of 
temper  would  permit  him  to  attend  to  those,  whose  age 
and   long  acquaintance  with   business  give   them   an  indis- 


152  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

putable  right  to  deference  and  superiority,  he  would  learn 
in  time  to  reason,  rather  than  declaim;  and  to  j)refer  just- 
ness of  argument  and  an  accurate  knowledge  of  facts,  to 
sounding  epithets  and  splendid  superlatives,  which  may  dis- 
turb the  imagination  for  a  moment,  but  leave  no  lasting 
impression  upon  the  mind.  He  would  learn,  that  to  accuse 
and  prove  are  very  different;  and  that  reproaches,  unsup- 
ported by  evidence,  affect  only  the  character  of  him  that 
utters  them. 

Excursions  of  fancy  and  flights  of  oratory  are  indeed 
pardonable  in  young  men,  but  in  no  other;  and  it  would 
surely  contribute  more,  even  to  the  purpose  for  which  some 
gentlemen  appear  to  speak  (that  of  depreciating  the  con- 
duct of  the  administration),  to  prove  the  inconveniences 
and  injustice  of  this  bill,  than  barely  to  assert  them,  with 
whatever  magnificence  of  language,  or  appearance  of  zeal, 
honesty,  or  compassion. 


XXXII.    PITT'S   REPLY   TO   SIR    ROBERT  WAX.POLE. 


"William  Pitt,  1708-1778,  one  of  the  ablest  statesmen  and  orators  of 
his  time,  was  born  in  Cornwall,  and  educated  at  Eton  and  Oxford.  He 
entered  Parliament  in  1735,  and  became  a  formidal)le  opponent  of  the 
ministry  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole.  He  gained  great  reputation  by  his 
wise  and  vigorous  management  of  military  affairs  in  the  last  years  of 
the  reign  of  George  II.  He  opposed  the  "  Stamp  Act "  with  great  ear- 
nestness, as  well  as  tlie  couree  of  the  ministry  in  the  early  years  of  the 
American  Revolution.  In  1778,  he  rose  from  a  sick  bed  to  make  his 
celebrated  speech,  in  the  House  of  Lords,  in  opposition  to  a  motion  to 
acknowledge  the  independence  of  America.  At  its  close,  he  fell  in  an 
apoplectic  fit,  and  wa-s  borne  home  to  die  in  a  few  weeks  aftei'ward. 
He  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey.  Mr.  Pitt  possessed  a  fine  per- 
sonal presence  and  a  powerful  voice ;  he  was  very  popular  with  the 
people,  and  is  often  called  the  "Great  Commoner."  He  was  created 
"  Earl  of  Chatham  "  in  1766. 


The  atrocious   crime  of  being  a  young  man,  which   the 
honorable   gentleman    has,   with    such    spirit   and    decency, 


SIXTH  BEADEB.  153 

charged  upon  me,  I  sliall  neither  attempt  to  palliate  nor 
deny;  but  content  myself  with  hoping  that  I  may  be  one 
of  those  whose  follies  cease  with  their  youth,  and  not 
of  that  number  who  are  ignorant  in  spite  of  experience. 
AVhether  youth  can  be  imputed  to  a  man  as  a  reproach,  I 
will  not  assume  the  province  of  determining;  but  surely 
tge  may  become  justly  contemptible,  if  the  opportunities 
which  it  brings  have  passed  away  without  improvement, 
and  vice  appears  to  j)revail  when  the  passions  have  sub- 
sided. The  wretch,  who,  after  having  seen  the  conse- 
quences of  a  thousand  errors,  continues  still  to  blunder, 
and  whose  age  has  only  added  obstinacy  to  stupidity,  is 
surely  the  object  either  of  abhorrence  or  contempt,  and 
deserves  not  that  his  gray  hairs  should  secure  him  from 
insult.  Much  more  is  he  to  be  abhorred,  who,  as  he  has 
advanced  in  age,  has  receded  from  virtue,  and  become 
more  wicked  —  with  less  temptation;  who  prostitutes  him- 
self for  money  which  he  can  not  enjoy,  and  spends  the 
remains  of  his  life  in  the  ruin  of  his  country. 

But  youth  is  not  my  only  crime ;  I  am  accused  of  acting 
a  theatrical  part.  A  theatrical  part  may  either  imply  some 
peculiarity  of  gesture,  or  a  dissimulation  of  my  real  senti- 
ments, and  an  adoption  of  the  opinions  and  language  of 
another  man.  In  the  first  sense,  the  charge  is  too  trifling 
to  be  confuted,  and  deserves  only  to  be  mentioned  that  it 
may  be  despised.  I  am  at  liberty,  like  every  other  man, 
to  use  my  own  language ;  and  though,  perhajis,  I  may 
have  some  ambition  to  please  this  gentleman,  I  shall  not 
lay  myself  under  any  restraint,  nor  very  solicitously  copy 
his  diction  or  his  mien,  however  matured  by  age,  or 
modeled  by  experience. 

But,  if  any  man  shall,  by  charging  me  with  theatrical 
behavior,  imply  that  I  utter  any  sentiments  but  my  own, 
I  shall  treat  him  as  a  calumniator  and  a  villain ;  nor  shall 
any  protection  shelter  him  from  the  treatment  he  deserves. 
T  shall,  on  such  an  occasion,  without  scruple,  trample  upon 


154  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

all  those  forms  with  which  wealth  and  dignity  intrench 
themselves,  nor  shall  any  thing  but  age  restrain  my  re- 
sentment; age, — which  always  brings  one  privilege,  that 
of  being  insolent  and  supercilious,  without  punishment. 

But,  with  regard  to  those  whom  I  have  offended,  I  am 
of  opinion  that,  if  I  had  acted  a  borrowed  part,  I  should 
have  avoided  their  censure:  the  heat  that  offended  them 
was  the  ardor  of  conviction,  and  that  zeal  for  the  service 
of  my  country  which  neither  hope  nor  fear  shall  influence 
me  to  suppress.  I  will  not  sit  unconcerned  while  my  lib- 
erty is  invaded,  nor  look  in  silence  upon  public  robbery. 
I  will  exert  my  endeavors,  at  whatever  hazard,  to  repel 
the  aggressor,  and  drag  the  thief  to  justice,  whoever  may 
protect  him  in  his  villainies,  and  whoever  may  partake  of 
his  plunder. 


XXXIII.    CHARACTER    OF   MR.    PITT. 

Henry  Grattan,  1746-1820,  an  Irish  orator  and  statesman,  was  born 
at  Dublin,  and  graduated  from  Trinity  College,  in  Ills  native  city.  By 
his  admiration  of  Mr.  Pitt,  the  first  Earl  of  Chatham,  he  was  led  to 
turn  his  attention  to  oratory.  In  personal  appearance,  he  was  unpre- 
possessing ;  but  his  private  chai-acter  was  without  a  blemish. 

The  secretary  stood  alone.  Modern  degeneracy  had  not 
reached  him.  Original  and  unaccommodating,  the  features 
of  his  character  had  the  hardihood  of  antiquity.  His  au- 
gust mind  overawed  majesty  itself.  No  state  chicanery,  no 
narrow  system  of  vicious  politics,  no  idle  contest  for  min- 
isterial victories,  sank  him  to  the  vulgar  level  of  the  great; 
but  overbearing,  persuasive,  and  impracticable,  his  object 
was  England,  his  ambition  was  fame. 

Without  dividing,  he  destroyed  party;  without  corrupt- 
ing, he  made  a  venal  age  unanimous.  France  sunk  beneath 
him.  With  one  hand  he  smote  the  house  of  Bourbon, 
and  wielded  in  the  other  the  democracy  of  England.     The 


SIXTH  READER.  155 

sight  of  his  mind  was  infinite;  and  his  schemes  were  to 
effect,  not  England,  not  the  jDresent  age  only,  but  Europe 
and  posterity.  Wonderful  were  the  means  by  which  those 
schemes  were  accomplished;  always  seasonable,  always  ade- 
quate, the  suggestion  of  an  understanding  animated  by 
ardor  and  enlightened  by  prophecy. 

The  ordinary  feelings  which  make  life  amiable  and  in- 
dolent, were  unknown  to  him.  No  domestic  difficulties,  no 
domestic  weakness,  reached  him ;  but,  aloof  from  the  sordid 
occurrences  of  life,  and  unsullied  by  its  intercourse,  he 
came  occasionally  into  our  system,  to  counsel  and  decide. 
A  character  so  exalted,  so  strenuous,  so  various,  so  author- 
itative, astonished  a  corrupt  age,  and  the  treasury  trembled 
at  the  name  of  Pitt,  through  all  classes  of  venality.  Cor- 
ruption imagined,  indeed,  that  she  had  found  defects  in 
this  statesman,  and  talked  much  of  the  inconsistency  of 
his  glory,  and  much  of  the  ruin  of  his  victories ;  but  the 
history  of  his  country,  and  the  calamities  of  the  enemy, 
answered  and  refuted  her. 

Nor  were  his  political  his  only  talents.  His  eloquence 
was  an  era  in  the  senate;  peculiar  and  spontaneous;  famil- 
iarly expressing  gigantic  sentiments  and  instructive  Avisdom; 
not  like  the  torrent  of  Demosthenes,  or  the  splendid  con- 
flagration of  Tully;  it  resembled  sometimes  the  thunder, 
and  sometimes  the  music  of  the  spheres.  He  did  not  con- 
duct the  understanding  through  the  painful  subtilty  of 
argumentation,  nor  was  he  ever  on  the  rack  of  exertion ; 
but  rather  lightened  upon  the  subject,  and  reached  the 
point  by  the  flashings  of  the  mind,  which,  like  those  of 
the  eye,  were  felt,  but  could  not  be  followed. 

Upon  the  whole,  there  was  in  this  man  something  that 
could  create,  subvert,  or  reform;  an  understanding,  a  spirit, 
and  an  eloquence,  to  summon  mankind  to  society,  or  to 
break  the  bonds  of  slavery  asunder,  and  to  rule  the  wild- 
ness  of  free  minds  with  unbounded  authority ;  something 
that    could    establish    or    overwhelm    empires,    and    strike 


156  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

a    blow    in    the    world    that    should    resound    through    the 
universe. 

Notes.— Demosthenes  (b.  385,  d.  322,  B.  C.)  was  the 
son  of  a  cutler  at  Athens,  Greece.  By  diligent  study  and 
unremitting  toil,  lie  became  the  greatest  orator  that  ever 
lived. 

TuUy,  Marcus  Tullius  Cicero  (b.  106,  d.  43,  B.  C),  was  the 
most  remarkable  of  Roman  orators.  He  held  the  highest 
office  of  the  Republic. 


XXXIV.    THE   SOLDIER'S   REST. 

Sir  "Walter  Scott,  1771-1832.  This  great  Scotch  poet  and  novelist  was 
born  in  Edinburgli,  Being  a  feeble  cliild,  he  was  sent  to  reside  on  his 
grandfather's  estate  in  the  south  of  Scotland.  Here  he  spent  several 
years,  and  gained  much  knowledge  of  the  traditions  of  border  warfare, 
as  well  as  of  the  tales  and  ballads  pertaining  to  it.  He  was  also  a  great 
reader  of  romances  in  his  j-outh.  In  1779  he  returned  to  Edinburgh,  ana 
became  a  pupil  in  the  high  school.  Four  yeai"s  later,  he  entered  the 
university ;  but,  in  neither  school  nor  college,  was  he  distinguished  for 
scholarship.  In  1797  he  was  admitted  to  the  practice  of  law,— a  profes- 
sion which  he  soon  forsook  for  literature.  His  flrst  poems  appeared  in 
1802.  The  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel "  was  publislied  in  1805,  "  Marmlon  " 
in  1808,  and  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  "  in  1810.  Several  poems  of  less 
power  followed.  In  1814  "  Waverley,"  his  first  novel,  made  its  appear- 
ance, but  the  author  was  unknown  for  some  time.  Numerous  other 
novels  followed  with  great  rapidity,  the  author  reaping  a  rich  harvest 
both  in  fame  and  money.  In  1811  he  purchased  an  estate  near  the 
Tweed,  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Abbotsford.  In  enlarging  his 
estate  and  building  a  costly  house,  he  spent  vast  sums  of  money.  This, 
together  with  the  failure  of  his  publishers  in  1826,  involved  him  very 
heavily  in  debt.  But  he  set  to  work  with  almost  .superhuman  effort 
to  pay  his  debts  by  the  labors  of  his  pen.  In  about  four  years,  he  had 
paid  more  than  |;300,000 ;  but  the  effort  was  too  much  for  his  strength, 
and  hastened  his  death. 

In  person,  Scott  was  tall,  and  apparently  robust,  except  a  slight 
lameness  with  which  he  was  aflfected  from  childhood.  He  was  kindly 
in  disposition,  hospitable  in  manner,  fond  of  out-door  pursuits  and  of 
animals,  especially  dogs.  He  wrote  with  astonishing  rapidity,  and 
always  in  the  early  morning.  At  his  death,  he  left  two  sons  and  two 
daughter.^.  A  magnificent  monument  to  his  memory  has  been  erected 
In  the  city  of  his  birth.  The  following  selection  is  from  "  The  Lady  of 
the  Lake." 


SIXTH  BEABER.  157 

Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er, 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking ; 
Dream  of  battle-fields  no  more, 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 
In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall. 

Hands  unseen  thy  couch  are  strewing, 
Fairy  strains  of  music  fall, 

Every  sense  in  slumber  dewing. 
Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er. 
Dream  of  battle-fields  no  more; 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking, 
Morn  of  toil,  nor  night  of  Avaking. 


No  rude  sound  shall  reach  thine  ear. 

Armor's  clang,  or  war-steed  champing. 
Trump  nor  pibroch  summon  here 

Mustering  clan,  or  squadron  tramping. 
Yet  the  lark's  shrill  fife  may  come. 

At  the  day-break  from  the  fallow, 
And  the  bittern  sound  his  drum, 

Booming  from  the  sedgy  shallow. 
Ruder  sounds  shall  none  be  near. 
Guards  nor  warders  challenge  here, 
Here  's  no  war-steed's  neigh  and  champing. 
Shouting  clans  or  squadrons  stamping. 


Huntsman,  rest !  thy  chase  is  done ; 

While  our  slumb'rous  spells  assail  ye, 
Dream  not,  with  the  rising  sun. 

Bugles  here  shall  sound  reveille. 
Sleep !  the  deer  is  in  his  den ; 

Sleep !  thy  hounds  are  by  thee  lying ; 
Sleep!  nor  dream  in  yonder  glen, 

How  thy  gallant  steed  lay  dying. 


158  ECLECTIC  SERIES.    . 

Huntsman,  rest;  thy  chase  is  done, 
Think  not  of  the  rising  sun, 
For  at  dawning  to  assail  ye, 
Here  no  bugle  sounds  reveille. 

Notes  — Pibroch  (pro.  pi'brok).  This  is  a  wild,  irregular 
species  of  music,  peculiar  to  the  Highlands  of  Scotland.  It 
is  performed  on  a  bagpipe,  and  adapted  to  excite  or  assuage 
passion,  and  particularly  to  rouse  a  martial  spirit  among 
troops  going  to  battle. 

Reveille  (pro.  re-vaFya)  is  an  awakening  call  at  daybreak. 
In  the  army  it  is  usually  sounded  on  the  drum. 


XXXV.    HENRY   V.    TO   HIS    TROOPS. 


■William  Shakespeare,  1564-1616.  By  many  (perhaps  most)  critics, 
Shakespeare  is  regarded  as  the  greatest  poet  the  world  has  ever  pro- 
duced ;  one  calls  him,  "  The  most  iUustrious  of  the  sons  of  men."  And  yet 
it  is  a  curious  fact  that  less  is  really  known  of  his  life  and  personal  char- 
acteristics than  is  known  of  almost  any  other  famous  name  in  history. 
About  one  hundred  yeare  ago,  a  writer  said,  "All  that  is  known  with 
any  degree  of  certainty  concerning  Shakespeare,  is  — that  he  was  born 
at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  married  and  had  children  there,  went  to  Lon- 
don, where  he  commenced  actor,  and  wrote  poems  and  plays;  returned 
to  Stratford,  made  his  will,  died,  and  was  buried."  All  the  research  of 
the  last  one  hundi'ed  years  has  added  but  very  little  to  this  meager 
record.  He  was  niarried,  very  young,  to  Anne  Hathaway,  a  woman 
eight  years  his  senior;  wa-s  joint  proprietor  of  Blackfriar's  Theater  in 
1589,  and  seems  to  have  accumulated  property,  and  retired  three  or  four 
years  before  his  death.  He  was  buried  in  Stratford  Church,  where  a 
monunvent  has  been  erected  to  his  inemory;  he  also  has  a  monument 
in  "Poet's  Corner  "  of  Westminster  Abbey.  His  family  soon  became 
extinct.  From  all  we  can  learn,  he  seems  to  have  been  highly  respected 
and  esteemed  by  his  cotemporaries. 

His  works  consist  chiefly  of  plays  and  sonnets.  His  writings  show 
an  astonishing  knowledge  of  human  nature,  expressed  in  language 
wonderful  for  its  point  and  beauty.  His  style  is  chaste  and  pure, 
judged  by  the  standard  of  his  times,  although  expressions  may  some- 
times be  found  that  would  not  be  considered  proper  in  a  modern 
writer.  It  has  been  argued  by  some  that  Shakespeare  did  not  write 
the  works  imputed  to  him ;  but  this  theory  seems  to  have  little  to 
support  it.    This  extract  is  from  King  Henry  V.,  Act  III,  Scene  I. 


SIXTH  READER.  159 

Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends,  once  more; 

Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead. 

In  peace  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man 

As  modest  stillness  and  humility: 

But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 

Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger; 

Stiffen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood. 

Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard-favored  rage ; 

Then  lend  the  eye  a  terrible  aspect; 

Let  it  pry  through  the  portage  of  the  head 

Like  the  brass  cannon ;  let  the  brow  o'erwhelm  it 

As  fearfully  as  doth  a  galled  rock 

O'erhang  and  jutty  his  confounded  base, 

Swilled  with  the  wild  and  wasteful  ocean. 

Now  set  the  teeth,  and  stretch  the  nostril  wide. 
Hold  hard  the  breath,  and  bend  up  every  spirit 
To  its  full  height!     On,  on,  you  noblest  English, 
Whose  blood  is  fet  from  fathers  of  war-proof! 
Fathers,  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 
Have,  in  these  parts,  from  morn  till  even,  fought, 
And  sheathed  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument ; 
Be  copy  now  to  men  of  grosser  blood, 
And  teach  them  how  to  war. 


And  you,  good  yeomen, 
Whose  limbs  were  made  in  England,  show  us  here 
The  mettle  of  your  pasture ;  let  us  swear 
That  you  are  worth  your  breeding,  which  I  doubt  not; 
For  there  is  none  of  you  so  mean  and  base. 
That  hath  not  noble  luster  in  your  eyes. 
I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips, 
Straining  upon  the  start.     The  game  's  afoot ; 
Follow  your  spirit :  and,  upon  this  charge, 
Cry  —  "God  for  Harry,  England,  and  St.  George!" 


160  ECLECTIC  SEBIES. 

Notes.— Henry  V.  (1388-1422)  was  king  of  England  for 
nine  years.  During  this  reign  almost  continuous  war  raged 
in  France,  to  the  throne  of  which  Henry  laid  claim.  The 
battle  of  Agincourt  took  i^lace  in  his  I'eign. 

Fet  is  the  old  form  oi  fetched. 

Alexanders. — Alexander  the  Great  (3.56-32.3  B.  C.)  was 
king  of  Macedonia,  and  the  celebrated  conqueror  of  Persia, 
India,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  world  as  then  known. 


XXXyi.    SPEECH    OF    PAUL    ON   MARS    HILL. 

Then  Paul  stood  in  the  midst  of  Mars  Hill,  and  said, 
Ye  men  of  Athens !  I  perceive  that  in  aU  things  ye  are 
too  superstitious.  For  as  I  passed  by,  and  beheld  your 
devotions,  I  found  an  altar  with  this  inscription,  To  The 
Unknown  God.  "Whom  therefore  ye  iguorantly  worship, 
him  declare  I  unto  you.  God  that  made  the  world  and 
all  things  therein  (seeing  that  he  is  Lord  of  heaven  and 
earth)  dwelleth  not  in  temples  made  with  hands;  neither 
is  worshiped  wdth  men's  hands,  as  though  he  needed  any 
thing,  seeing  he  giveth  to  all  life,  and  breath,  and  all 
things ;  and  hath  made  of  one  blood  all  nations  of  men  for 
to  dwell  on  all  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  hath  determined 
the  times  before  appointed,  and  the  bounds  of  their  habita- 
tion; that  they  should  seek  the  Lord,  if  haply  they  might 
feel  after  him,  and  find  him,  though  he  be  not  far  from 
every  one  of  us:  for  in  him  we  live,  and  move,  and  have 
our  being;  as  certain  also  of  your  own  poets  have  said, 
For  we  are  also  his  oifspring.  Forasmuch  then  as  we  are 
the  offspring  of  God,  we  ought  not  to  think  that  the  God- 
head is  like  unto  gold,  or  silver,  or  stone,  graven  by  art 
and  man's  device.  And  the  times  of  this  ignorance  God 
winked  at ;  but  now  commaudeth  all  men  every-where  to 
repent:  because  he  hath  appointed  a  day,  in  the  which  he 
will  judge  the  world   in  righteousness   by  that   Man  whom 


SIXTH  READER.  161 

lie  hath  ordained;  whereof  he  hath  given  assurance  unto 
aU  men,  in  that  he  hath  raised  him  from  the  dead.  And 
when  they  heard  of  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  some 
mocked :  and  others  said.  We  will  hear  thee  again  of  this 
matter.  So  Paul  departed  from  among  them.  Howbeit 
certain  men  clave  unto  him,  and  believed ;  among  the 
which  was  Dionysius  the  Areopagite,  and  a  woman  named 
Damaris,  and  others  with  them. 

—Bible. 

Notes. — At  the  time  this  oration  was  delivered  (50  A.  D.), 
Athens  still  held  the  place  she  had  occupied  for  centuries, 
as  the  center  of  the  enlightened  and  refined  world. 

Mars  Hill,  or  the  Areopagus,  was  an  eminence  in  the 
city,  made  famous  as  the  place  where  the  court,  also  called 
Areopagus,  held  its  sittings. 

Dionysius,  surnamed  Areopageita,  from  being  a  member 
of  this  court,  was  an  eminent  Greek  scholar,  who,  after  his 
conversion  to  Christianity  by  St.  Paul,  was  installed,  by  the 
latter,  as  the  first  bishop  of  Athens.  He  afterwards  suffered 
martyrdom. 


XXXVn.    GOD  IS  EVERY-"WTIERE. 

Oh!  show  me  where  is  He, 

The  high  and  holy  One, 

To  whom  thou  bend'st  the  knee, 

And  prayest,  ' '  Thy  will  be  done ! " 

I  hear  thy  song  of  praise. 

And  lo !  no  form  is  near : 

Thine  eyes  I  see  thee  raise, 

But  where  doth  God  appear? 
Oh!  teach  me  who  is  God,  and  where  his  glories  shine, 
That  I  may  kneel  and  pray,  and  call  thy  Father  mine. 

6.— 14. 


162  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

"Gaze  on  that  arch  above: 

The  glittering  vault  admire. 

Who  taught  those  orbs  to  move? 

Who  lit  their  ceaseless  fire? 

Who  guides  the  moon  to  run 

In  silence  through  the  skies? 

Who  bids  that  dawning  sun 

In  strength  and  beauty  rise? 
There  view  immensity !  behold !  my  God  is  there : 
The  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars,  his  majesty  declare. 

"  See  where  the  mountains  rise : 

Where  thundering  torrents  foam  ; 

Where,  veiled  in  towering  skies, 

The  eagle  makes  his  home : 

Where  savage  nature  dwells. 

My  God  is  present,  too : 

Through  all  her  wildest  dells 

His  footsteps  I  pursue : 
He  reared  those  giant  cliffs,  supplies  that  dashing  stream, 
Provides  the  daily  food  which  stills  the  wild  bird's  scream. 

"  Look  on  that  world  of  waves. 

Where  finny  nations  glide ; 

Within  whose  deep,  dark  caves 

The  ocean  monsters  hide : 

His  power  is  sovereign  there. 

To  raise,  to  quell  the  storm ; 

The  depths  his  bounty  share. 

Where  sport  the  scaly  swarm : 
Tempests  and  calms  obey  the  same  almighty  voice, 
Which  rules  the  earth  and  skies,  and  bids  far  worlds  rejoice. " 

— Joseph  Hutton. 


SIXTH  READER.  163 


XXXVIII.    LA  FAYETTE   AND   ROBERT   RAIKES. 

Thomas  S.  Grimke,  1786-18;?4,  an  eminent  lawyer  and  scholar,  was 
born  in  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  graduated  at  Yale  in  1807,  and  died 
of  cholera  near  Columbus,  Ohio.  He  de.seended  from  a  Huguenot 
family  that  was  exiled  from  France  by  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of 
Nantes.  He  gained  considerable  reputation  as  a  politician,  but  is  best 
known  as  an  advocate  of  peace,  Sunday-schools,  and  the  Bible.  He 
was  a  man  of  deep  feeling,  earnest  purpose,  and  pure  life.  Some  of  his 
views  were  very  radical  and  very  peculiar.  He  proposed  sweeping  re- 
forms in  English  orthography,  and  disapproved  of  the  classics  and  of 
pure  mathematics  in  any  scheme  of  general  education.  The  following 
is  an  extract  from  an  address  delivered  at  a  Sunday-school  celebration. 

It  is  but  a  few  years  since  we  beheld  the  most  singular 
and  memorable  pageant  in  the  annals  of  time.  It  was  a 
pageant  more  sublime  and  affecting  than  the  progress  of 
Elizabeth  through  England  after  the  defeat  of  the  Armada; 
than  the  return  of  Francis  I.  from  a  Spanish  prison  to  his 
own  beautiful  France ;  than  the  daring  and  rapid  march 
of  the  conqueror  at  Austerlitz  from  Frejus  to  Paris.  It 
was  a  pageant,  indeed,  rivaled  only  in  the  elements  of  the 
grand  and  the  pathetic,  by  the  journey  of  our  own  Wash- 
ington through  the  different  states  Need  I  say  that  I 
allude  to  the  visit  of  La  Fayette  to  America? 

But  La  Fayette  returned  to  the  laud  of  the  dead,  rather 
than  of  the  living.  How  many  who  had  fought  with  him 
in  the  war  of  '76,  had  died  in  arms,  and  lay  buried  in 
the  grave  of  the  soldier  or  the  sailor !  How  many  who 
had  survived  the  perils  of  battle,  on  the  land  and  the 
ocean,  had  expired  on  the  death-bed  of  peace,  in  the  arms 
of  mother,  sister,  daughter,  wife !  Those  who  survived  to 
celebrate  with  him  the  jubilee  of  1825,  were  stricken  in 
years,  and  hc^ary-headed  ;  many  of  them  infirm  in  health ; 
many  the  victims  of  poverty,  or  misfortune,  or  affliction. 
And,  how  venerable  that  patriotic  company;  how  sublime 
their  gathering  through  all  the  land;  how  joyful  their  wel- 
come, how  affecting  their  farewell  to  that  beloved  stranger! 

But   the   pageant  has   fled,  and   the  very  materials   that 


164  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

gave  it  such  depths  of  interest  are  rapidly  perishing:  and 
a  humble,  perhaps  a  nameless  grave,  shall  hold  the  last 
soldier  of  the  Revolution.  And  shall  they  ever  meet  again  ? 
Shall  the  patriots  and  soldiers  of  '76,  the  "Immortal  Band," 
as  history  styles  them,  meet  again  in  the  amaranthine 
bowers  of  spotless  purity,  of  perfect  bliss,  of  eternal  glory? 
Shall  theirs  be  the  Christian's  heaven,  the  kingdom  of  the 
Redeemer?  The  heathen  points  to  his  fabulous  Elysium 
as  the  paradise  of  the  soldier  and  the  sage.  But  the 
Christian  bows  down  with  tears  and  sighs,  for  he  knows 
that  not  many  of  the  patriots,  and  statesmen,  and  warriors 
of  Christian  lands  are  the  disciples  of  Jesus. 

But  we  turn  from  La  Fayette,  the  favorite  of  the  old 
and  the  new  world,  to  the  peaceful  benevolence,  the  un- 
ambitious achievements  of  Robert  Raikes.  Let  us  imagine 
him  to  have  been  still  alive,  and  to  have  visited  our  land, 
to  celebrate  this  day  with  us.  No  national  ships  would 
have  been  offered  to  bear  him,  a  nation's  guest,  in  the 
pride  of  the  star-spangled  banner,  from  the  bright  shores 
of  the  rising,  to  the  brighter  shores  of  the  setting  sun. 
No  cannon  would  have  hailed  him  in  the  stern  language 
of  the  battle-field,  the  fortunate  champion  of  Freedom,  in 
Europe  and  America.  No  martial  music  would  have  wel- 
comed him  in  notes  of  rajiture,  as  they  rolled  along  the 
Atlantic,  and  echoed  through  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi. 
No  military  procession  would  have  heralded  his  way  through 
crowded  streets,  thick-set  with  the  banner  and  the  plume, 
the  glittering  saber  and  the  poHshed  bayonet.  No  cities 
would  have  called  forth  beauty  and  fashion,  wealth  and 
rank,  to  honor  him  in  the  ball-room  and  theater.  No 
states  would  have  escorted  him  from  boundary  to  boundary, 
nor  have  sent  their  chief  magistrate  to  do  him  homage. 
No  national  liberahty  Avould  have  allotted  to  him  a  noble- 
man's domain  and  princely  treasure.  No  national  gratitude 
would  have  hailed  him  in  the  capitol  itself,  the  nation's 
guest,   because    the    nation's    benefactor;    and    have    conse- 


SIXTH  READER.  165 

crated  a  battle-ship,  in  memory  of  bis  wounds  and  bis 
gallantry. 

Not  sucb  would  bave  been  tbe  reception  of  Robert 
Raikes,  in  tbe  land  of  tbe  Pilgrims  and  of  Penn,  of  tbe 
CatboHc,  tbe  Cavalier,  and  tbe  Huguenot.  And  wbo  does 
not  rejoice  tbat  it  would  be  impossible  tbus  to  welcome 
tbis  primitive  Cbristian,  tbe  founder  of  Sunday -scbools  ? 
His  beralds  would  be  tbe  preacbers  of  tbe  Gospel,  and  tbe 
eminent  in  piety,  benevolence,  and  zeal.  His  jirocession 
would  number  in  its  ranks  tbe  messengers  of  tbe  Cross 
and  tbe  disciples  of  tbe  Savior,  Sunday-scbool  teacbers 
and  white-robed  scholars.  The  temples  of  tbe  Most  High 
would  be  tbe  scenes  of  bis  triumph.  Homage  and  grati- 
tude to  him,  would  be  anthems  of  praise  and  thanksgiving 
to  God. 

Parents  would  honor  him  as  more  than  a  brother;  chil- 
dren would  reverence  bim  as  more  than  a  father.  The 
faltering  words  of  age,  the  firm  and  sober  voice  of  man- 
hood, the  silvery  notes  of  youth,  would  bless  bim  as  a 
Cbristian  patron.  The  wise  and  the  good  would  acknowl- 
edge him  every -where  as  a  national  benefactor,  as  a  patriot 
even  to  a  land  of  strangers.  He  would  bave  come  a  mes- 
senger of  peace  to  a  land  of  peace.  No  images  of  camps, 
and  sieges,  and  battles ;  no  agonies  of  the  dying  and  tbe 
wounded ;  no  shouts  of  victory,  or  processions  of  triumph, 
would  mingle  with  tbe  recollections  of  the  multitude  wbo 
welcomed  bim.  They  would  mourn  over  no  common  dan- 
gers, trials,  and  calamities ;  for  tbe  road  of  duty  has  been 
to  them  tbe  path  of  pleasantness,  tbe  way  of  peace.  Their 
memory  of  the  past  would  be  rich  in  gratitude  to  God, 
and  love  to  man;  their  enjoyment  of  tbe  present  would  be 
a  prelude  to  heavenly  bliss ;  their  prospects  of  the  future, 
bright  and  glorious  as  faith  and  hope.     *     >i<     * 

Sucb  was  tbe  reception  of  La  Fayette,  the  warrior; 
sucb  would  be  tbat  of  Robert  Raikes,  tbe  Howard  of  the 
Cbristian    church.      And   which    is    tbe    nobler   benefactor, 


166  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

patriot,  and  philanthropist?  Mankind  may  admire  and 
extol  La  Fayette  more  than  the  founder  of  the  Sunday- 
schools;  but  religion,  philanthropy,  and  enlightened  com- 
mon sense  must  ever  esteem  Robert  Raikes  the  superior 
of  La  Fayette.  His  are  the  virtues,  the  services,  the 
sacrifices  of  a  more  enduring  and  exalted  order  of  being. 
His  counsels  and  triumj^hs  belong  less  to  time  than  to 
eternity. 

The  fame  of  La  Fayette  is  of  this  world ;  the  glory  of 
Robert  Raikes  is  of  the  Redeemer's  everlasting  kingdom. 
La  Fayette  lived  chiefly  for  his  own  age,  and  chiefly  for 
his  and  our  country;  but  Robert  Raikes  has  lived  for  all 
ages  and  all  countries.  Perhaps  the  historian  and  biog- 
rapher may  never  interweave  his  name  in  the  tapestry  of 
national  or  individual  renown.  But  the  records  of  every 
single  church  honor  him  as  a  patron ;  the  records  of  the 
universal  Church,  on  earth  as  in  heaven,  bless  him  as  a 
benefactor. 

The  time  may  come  when  the  name  of  La  Fayette  will 
be  forgotten ;  or  when  the  star  of  his  fame,  no  longer  glit- 
tering in  the  zenith,  shall  be  seen,  pale  and  glimmering, 
on  the  verge  of  the  horizon.  But  the  name  of  Robert 
Raikes  shall  never  be  forgotten ;  and  the  lambent  flame 
of  his  glory  is  that  eternal  fire  which  rushed  down  from 
heaven  to  devour  the  sacrifice  of  Elijah.  Let  mortals  then 
admire  and  imitate  La  Fayette  more  than  Robert  Raikes. 
But  the  just  made  perfect,  and  the  ministering  spirits 
around  the  throne  of  God,  have  welcomed  him  as  a  fellow- 
servant  of  the  same  Lord ;  as  a  felloAv-laborer  in  the  same 
glorious  cause  of  man's  redemption ;  as  a  co-heir  of  the 
same  precious  promises  and  eternal  rewards. 

Notes. — Armada,  the  great  fleet  sent  out  in  1588,  by  Philip 
II.  of  Spain,  for  the  conquest  of  England,  was  defeated  in 
the  Channel  by  the  English  and  Dutch  fleets.  After  the 
victory.  Queen  Elizabeth  made  a  triumphal  journey  through 
the  kingdom. 


SIXTH  READER.  167 

Francis  I.  (b.  1494,  d.  1547),  King  of  France,  was  taken 
jirisoner  at  the  battle  of  Pavia,  and  confined  at  Madrid, 
Spain,  nearly  a  year. 

Austerlitz. — See  Note  'on  p.  150. 

La  Fayette  (b.  1757,  d.  1S34),  a  French  marquis,  who  served 
as  major-general  in  the  Revolutionary  War  in  America,  which 
terminated  in  1783.  La  Fayette  revisited  this  country  in 
1824,  and  was  received  throughout  the  land  with  the  greatest 
entiiusiasm. 

Robert  Raikes  (b.  1735,  d.  1811),  an  English  printer  and 
2)hiUxnthropist,  noted  as  the  founder  of  Sunday-schools. 

Ho^vard,  John  (b.  172^,  d.  1790),  a  celebrated  English  phi- 
lantliropist,  who  spent  much  of  his  life  in  the  endeavor  to 
reform  the  condition  of  prisons  in  Europe. 


XXXIX.    FALL   OF    CARDINAL    WOLSEY. 

Wolsey.     Farewell!  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my  greatness! 
This  is  the  state  of  man :  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hopes ;  to-morrow  blossoms, 
And  bears  his  blushing  honors  thick  upon  him ; 
The  third  day  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost, 
And,  when  he  thinks,  good,  easy  inan,  full  surely 
His  greatness  is  a-ripening,  nips  his  root. 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do.     I  have  ventured, 
Like  little,  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders, 
This  many  summei'S  in  a  sea  of  glory. 
But  far  beyond  my  depth :  my  high-blown  pride 
At  length  broke  under  me,  and  now  has   left  me, 
Weary  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream,  that  must  for  ever  hide  me. 
Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye : 
I  feel  my  heart"  neAV  open'd.     Oh,  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man  that  hangs  on  princes'  favors ! 
There  is,  betwixt  that  smile  we  would  aspire  to, 


168  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

That  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  and  their  ruin, 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have : 
And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  hope  again.    I 

Enter  Cromwell,  and  stands  aviazed. 

Why,  how  now,  Cromwell! 

Orom.  I  have  no  power  to  speak,  sir, 

Wbl.  What,  amazed 

At  my  misfortunes?  Can  thy  spirit  wonder, 

A  great  man  should  decline?     Nay,  an  you  weep, 
I  am  fall'u  indeed. 

Oram.  How  does  your  grace? 

Wol.  Why,  well; 

Never  so  truly  happy,  my  good  Cromwell. 
I  know  myself  now ;  and  I  feel  within  me 
A  peace  above  all  earthly  dignities, 
A  still  and  quiet  conscience.     The  king  has  cured  me, 
I  humbly  thank  his  grace;  and  from  these  shoulders, 
These  ruiu'd  pillars,  out  of  pity,  taken 
A  load  would  sink  a  navy,  —  too  much  honor: 
Oh,  'tis  a  burthen,  Cromwell,  'tis  a  burthen, 
Too  heavy  for  a  man  that  hopes  for  heaven ! 

Crovi.   I  am  glad  your  grace  has  made  that  right  use  of  it. 

Wol.     I  hope  I  have:  I  am  able  now,  methinks, 
Out  of  a  fortitude  of  soul  I  feel, 
To  endure  more  miseries,  and  greater  far. 
Than  my  weak-hearted  enemies  dare  offer. 
AVhat  news  abroad? 

Crom.  The  heaviest,  and  the  worst. 

Is  your  displeasure  with  the  king. 

Wol.  God  bless  him! 


SIXTH  READER.  169 

Crom.  The  next  is,  that  Sir  Thomas  More  is  chosen 
Lord  chancellor  in  your  place. 

Wol.  That 's  somewhat  sudden : 

But  he's  a  learned  man.     May  he  continue 
Long  in  his  highness'  favor,  and  do  justice 
For  truth's  sake  and  his  conscience;  that  his  bones, 
When  he  has  run  his  course,  and  sleeps  in  blessings, 
May  have  a  tomb  of  orphans'  tears  wept  on  'em! 
What  more? 

Crom.  That  Cranmer  is  return'd  with  welcome, 

Install'd  lord  archbishop  of  Canterbury. 

Wol.     That 's  news  indeed ! 

Crom.  Last,  that  the  Lady  Anne, 

Whom  the  king  hath  in  secrecy  long  married. 
This  day  was  viewed  in  open  as  his  queen, 
Going  to  chapel;  and  the  voice  is  now 
Only  about  her  coronation. 

Wol.     There  was  the  weight  that  pull'd  me  down.     0 
Cromwell, 
The  king  has  gone  beyond  me:  all  my  glories 
In  that  one  woman  I  have  lost  for  ever: 
No  sun  shall  ever  usher  forth  mine  honors. 
Or  gild  again  the  noble  troops  that  waited 
Upon  my  smiles.     Go,  get  thee  from  me,  Cromwell; 
I  am  a  poor,  fall'n  man,  unworthy  now 
To  be  thy  lord  and  master:  seek  the  king; 
That  sun,  I  jjray,  may  never  set!     I  have  told  him 
What  and  how  true  thou  art:  he  will  advance  thee; 
Some  little  memory  of  me  will  stir  him  — 
I  know  his  noble  nature  —  not  to  let 
Thy  hopeful  service  perish,  too:  good  Cromwell, 
Neglect  him  not;  make  use  now,  and  provide 
For  thine  own  future  safety. 

6.— 15. 


170  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Crom.  O  my  lord, 

Must  I,  then,  leave  you?     Must  I  needs  forego 
So  good,  so  noble,  and  so  true  a  master? 
Bear  witness,  all  that  have  not  hearts  of  iron, 
With  what  a  sorrow  Cromwell  leaves  his  lord. 
The  king  shall  have  ray  service;  but  my  prayers 
For  ever  and  for  ever  shall  be  yours. 

Wol.     Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear 

In  all  my  miseries;  but  thou  hast  forced  me. 
Out  of  thy  honest  truth,  to  play  the  woman. 
Let's  dry  our  eyes:  and  thus  far  hear  me,  Cromwell 
And,  when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be, 
And  sleep  in  dull,  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 
Of  me  more  must  be  heard  of,  say,  I  taught  thee; 
Say,  Wolsey,  that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory, 
And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honor. 
Found  thee  a  way,  out  of  his  wreck,  to  rise  in; 
A  sure  and  safe  one,  though  thy  master  missed  it. 
Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  that  ruin'd  me. 
Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition : 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels;  how  can  man,  then, 
The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by  it? 
Love  thyself  last :  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee ; 
Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty. 
Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace, 
To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just,  and  fear  not: 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's. 
Thy  God's,  and  truth's;  then,  if  thou  fall'st,  O 

Cromwell, 
Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  mart}^!     Serve  the  king; 
And,  —  prithee,  lead  me  in: 
There,  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have, 
To  the  last  penny ;  't  is  the  king's :  my  robe. 
And  my  integrity  to  Heaven,  is  all 
I  dare  now  call  mine  own.     O  Cromwell,  Cromwell! 


SIXTH  READER.  171 

Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I  served  my  king,  He  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies. 

Orom.   Good  sir,  have  patience. 

Wol.  So  I  have.     Farewell 

The  hopes  of  court!  my  hopes  in  Heaven  do  dwell. 

Sliakespeare. — Henry  VIII,  Act  in,  Scene  ii. 

Notes.— Wolsey,  Cardinal  Thomas  (b.  1471,  d.  1530),  was  for 
several  years  the  favored  minister  of  Henry  VIII.  of  England. 
He  acquired  great  wealth  and  power.  In  1522,  he  was  one  of 
the  candidates  for  the  Papal  throne.  In  1529,  he  was  dis- 
graced at  the  English  court  and  arrested. 

Cromwell,  Thomas  (b.  1490,  d.  1540),  was  Wolsey's  servant. 
After  Wolsey's  death,  he  became  secretary  to  Henry  VIII., 
and  towards  the  close  of  his  life  was  made  Earl  of  Essex. 


XL.   THE   PHILOSOPHER. 

John  P.  Kennedy,  1795-1870.  This  gentleman,  eminent  in  American 
politics  and  literature,  was  born  in  Baltimore,  graduated  at  tlie  College 
of  Baltimore,  and  died  in  the  same  city.  He  served  several  years  in 
the  Legislature  of  his  native  state,  and  three  terms  in  the  United 
States  House  of  Representatives.  He  was  Secretary  of  the  Navy  during 
a  part  of  President  Fillmore's  administration,  and  was  active  in  send- 
ing out  the  famous  Japan  expedition,  and  Dr.  Kane's  expedition  in 
search  of  Sir  John  Franklin.  Mr.  Kennedy  wrote  several  novels,  as 
well  as  political  and  other  papers.  His  writings  are  marked  by  ease 
and  freshness.  The  following  extract  is  from  "Swallow  Barn,"  a  series 
of  sketches  of  early  Virginia. 

From  the  house  at  Swallow  Barn  there  is  to  be  seen, 
at  no  great  distance,  a  clump  of  trees,  and  in  the  midst 
of  these  a  humble  building  is  discernible,  that  seems  to 
court  the  shade  in  which  it  is  modestly  embowered.  It  is 
an  old  structure  built  of  logs.  Its  figure  is  a  cube,  with 
a  roof  rising  from  all  sides  to  a  point,  and  surmounted  by 


172  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

a  wooden  weathercock,  which  somewhat  resembles  a  fish 
and  somewhat  a  fowl. 

This  little  edifice  is  a  rustic  shrine  devoted  to  Cadmus, 
and  is  under  the  dominion  of  parson  Chub.  He  is  a 
plump,  rosy  old  gentleman,  rather  short  and  thickset, 
with  the  blood-vessels  meandering  over  his  face  like  riv- 
ulets,— a  pair  of  prominent  blue  eyes,  and  a  head  of  silky 
hair  not  unlike  the  covering  of  a  white  spaniel.  He  may 
be  said  to  be  a  man  of  jolly  dimensions,  with  an  evident 
taste  for  good  living,  sometimes  sloven  in  his  attire,  for 
his  coat  —  which  is  not  of  the  newest  —  is  decorated  with 
sundry  spots  that  are  scattered  over  it  in  constellations. 
Besides  this,  he  wears  an  immense  cravat,  which,  as  it  is 
wreathed  around  his  short  neck,  forms  a  bowl  beneath  his 
chin,  and  —  as  Ned  says  —  gives  the  parson's  head  the  ap- 
pearance of  that  of  John  the  Baptist  upon  a  charger,  as 
it  is  sometimes  represented  in  the  children's  picture  books. 
His  beard  is  grizzled  with  silver  stubble,  which  the  parson 
reaps  about  twice  a  week  —  if  the  weather  be  fair. 

Mr.  Chub  is  a  philosopher  after  the  order  of  Socrates. 
He  was  an  emigrant  from  the  Emerald  Isle,  where  he 
suflfered  much  tribulation  in  the  disturbances,  as  they  are 
mildly  called,  of  his  much-enduring  country.  But  the  old 
gentleman  has  weathered  the  storm  without  losing  a  jot  of 
that  broad,  healthy  benevolence  with  which  Nature  has  en- 
veloped his  heart,  and  whose  ensign  she  has  hoisted  in  his 
face.  The  early  part  of  his  life  had  been  easy  and  pros- 
perous, until  the  rebellion  of  1798  stimulated  his  republic- 
anism into  a  fever,  and  drove  the  full-blooded  hero  headlong 
into  a  quarrel,  and  put  him,  in  spite  of  his  peaceful  pro- 
fession, to  standing  by  his  pike  in  behalf  of  his  principles. 
By  this  unhappy  boiling  over  of  the  caldron  of  his  valor, 
he  fell  under  the  ban  of  the  ministers,  and  tested  his 
share  of  government  mercy.  His  house  was  burnt  over 
his  head,  his  horses  and  hounds  (for,  by  all  accounts,  he 
was  a  perfect  Actaeou)  were  "  confiscate   to  the  state,"  and 


SIXTH  READER.  173 

he  was  forced  to  fly.  This  brought  him  to  America  in  no 
very  compromising  mood  with  royalty. 

Here  his  fortunes  appear  to  have  been  various,  and  he 
was  tossed  to  and  fro  by  the  battledoor  of  fate,  until  he 
found  a  snug  harbor  at  Swallow  Barn;  where,  some  years 
ago,  he  sat  down  in  that  quiet  repose  which  a  worried  and 
badgered  patriot  is  best  fitted  to  enjoy. 

He  is  a  good  scholar,  and,  having  confined  his  readings 
entirely  to  the  learning  of  the  ancients,  his  republicanism 
is  somewhat  after  the  Grecian  mold.  He  has  never  read 
any  politics  of  later  date  than  the  time  of  the  Emperor 
Constantine,  not  even  a  newspaper, — so  that  he  may  be 
said  to  have  been  contemporary  with  ^schines  rather  than 
Lord  Castlereagh  —  until  that  eventful  epoch  of  his  life 
when  its  blazing  roof-tree  awakened  him  from  his  anachro- 
nistical dream.  This  notable  interruption,  however,  gave 
him  but  a  feeble  insight  into  the  moderns,  and  he  soon 
relapsed  to  Thucydides  and  Livy,  with  some  such  glim- 
merings of  the  American  Revolution  upon  his  remembrance 
as  most  readers  have  of  the  exploits  of  the  first  Brutus. 

The  old  gentleman  had  a  learned  passion  for  folios.  He 
had  been  a  long  time  urging  Meriwether  to  make  some 
additions  to  his  collections  of  literature,  and  descanted  upon 
the  value  of  some  of  the  ancient  authors  as  foundations, 
both  moral  and  physical,  to  the  library.  Frank  gave  way 
to  the  argument,  partly  to  gratify  the  parson,  and  partly 
from  the  proposition  itself  having  a  smack  that  touched 
his  fancy.  The  matter  was  therefore  committed  entirely 
to  Mr.  Chub,  who  forthwith  set  out  on  a  voyage  of  ex- 
ploration to  the  north.  I  believe  he  got  as  far  as  Boston. 
He  certainly  contrived  to  execute  his  commission  with  a 
curious  felicity.  Some  famous  Elzevirs  were  picked  up, 
and  many  other  antiques  that  nobody  but  Mr.  Chub  would 
ever  think  of  opening. 

The  cargo  arrived  at  Swallow  Barn  in  the  dead  of 
winter.     During   the   interval   between   the  parson's   return 


174  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

from  his  expedition  and  the  coming  of  the  books,  the  rev- 
erend little  school-master  was  in  a  remarkably  unquiet  state 
of  body,  which  almost  prevented  him  from  sleeping :  and 
it  is  said  that  the  sight  of  the  long-expected  treasures  had 
the  happiest  effect  upon  him.  There  was  ample  accommo- 
dation for  this  new  acquisition  of  ancient  wisdom  provided 
before  its  arrival,  and  Mr.  Chub  now  spent  a  whole  week 
in  arranging  the  volumes  on  their  proper  shelves,  having, 
as  report  affirms,  altered  the  arrangement  at  least  seven 
times  during  that  period.  Every  body  wondered  what  the 
old  gentleman  was  at,  all  this  time ;  but  it  was  discovered 
afterwards,  that  he  was  endeavoring  to  effect  a  distribu- 
tion of  the  works  according  to  a  minute  division  of  human 
science,  Avhich  entirely  failed,  owing  to  the  unlucky  ac- 
cident of  several  of  his  departments  being  without  any 
volumes. 

After  this  matter  was  settled,  he  regularly  spent  his 
evenings  in  the  library.  Frank  Meriwether  was  hardly 
behind  the  parson  in  this  fancy,  and  took,  for  a  short 
time,  to  abstruse  reading.  They  both  consequently  de- 
serted the  little  family  circle  every  evening  after  tea,  and 
might  have  continued  to  do  so  all  the  winter  but  for  a 
discovery  made  by  Hazard. 

Ned  had  seldom  joined  the  two  votaries  of  science  in 
their  philosophical  retirement,  and  it  was  whispered  in  the 
family  that  the  parson  Avas  giving  Frank  a  quiet  course 
of  lectures  in  the  ancient  philosophy,  for  Meriwether  was 
known  to  talk  a  great  deal,  about  that  time,  of  the  old 
and  new  Academicians.  But  it  happened  upon  one  dreary 
winter  night,  during  a  tremendous  snow  storm,  which  was 
banging  the  shutters  and  doors  of  the  house  so  as  to  keep 
up  a  continual  uproar,  that  Ned,  having  waited  in  the 
parlor  for  the  philosophers  until  midnight,  set  out  to  in- 
vade their  retreat  —  not  doubting  that  he  should  find  them 
deep  in  study.  When  he  entered  the  library,  both  candles 
were  burning  in  their  sockets,  with  long,  untrimmed  wicks; 


SIXTH  READER.  175 

the  fire  was  reduced  to  its  last  embers,  and,  in  an  arm- 
chair on  one  side  of  the  table,  the  parson  was  discovered  in 
a  sound  sleep  over  Jeremy  Taylor's  "  Ductor  Dubitautium," 
whilst  Frank,  in  another  chair  on  the  opposite  side,  was 
snoring  over  a  folio  edition  of  Montaigne.  And  upon  the 
table  stood  a  small  stone  pitcher,  containing  a  residuum 
of  whisky  punch,  now  grown  cold.  Frank  started  up  in 
great  consternation  upon  hearing  Ned's  footstep  beside  him, 
and,  from  that  time,  almost  entirely  deserted  the  library. 
Mr.  Chub,  however,  was  not  so  easily  drawn  away  from 
the  career  of  his  humor,  and  still  shows  his  hankering 
after  his  leather-coated  friends. 

Notes. — Cadmus  is  said  to  have  taught  the  Greeks  the 
use  of  the  alphabet. 

Socrates  (b.  469,  d.  399  B.  C),  a  noted  Athenian  philos- 
opher. Rebellion. — In  1798,  the  Irish  organized  and  rose 
against    the    English    rule.      The    rebfeUion    was    suppressed. 

Actseon  [Ak-te'on],  a  fabled  Greek  hunter,  who  was 
changed  into  a  stag. 

Constantine,  the  Great  (b.  272,  d,  337),  the  first  Chris- 
tian emperor  of  Rome.  He  was  an  able  general  and  wise 
legislator.  In  328,  he  removed  his  capital  to  Byzantium, 
which  he  named  Constantinople,  .^schines  [es^ke-nez]  (b. 
389,  d.  314  B.  C),  an  Atlienian  orator,  the  rival  of  Demos- 
thenes. Castlereagh,  Lord  (b.  1769,  d.  1822),  a  British 
statesman.  He  was  in  power,  and  prominent  in  the  suppres- 
sion of  the  Eebellion.     Brutus,  see  p.   145. 

Elzevirs  [eFze-Vir§],  the  name  of  a  family  of  Dutch  print- 
ers noted  for  the  beauty  of  their  workmanship.  They  lived 
from   1540  to  1680. 

Academicians. — The  Old  Academy  was  founded  by  Plato, 
at  Athens,  about  380  B.  C.  The  New,  by  Carneades,  about 
two  hundred  years  later. 

Jeremy  Taylor  (b.  1613,  d.  1667),  an  English  bishop  and 
writer.  His  Duetor  Duhitantium,  or  "  Rule  of  Conscience,"  was 
one  of  his  chief  works.  Montaigne,  Michel  (b.  1533,  d.  1592), 
was  a  celebrated  French  writer  of  peculiar  characteristics.  He 
ovpes  his  reputation  entirely  to  his  "  Essais." 


176  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

XLI.    MARMION  AND   DOUGLAS. 

Not  far  advanced  was  morning  day, 
When  Marmion  did  his  troop  array- 
To  Surrey's  camp  to  ride ; 
He  had  safe  conduct  for  his  band, 
Beneath  the  royal  seal  and  hand, 
And  Douglas  gave  a  guide. 

The  train  from  out  the  castle  drew, 
But  Marmion  stopped  to  bid  adieu: 
"  Though  something  I  might  plain,"  he  said, 
"  Of  cold  respect  to  stranger  guest. 
Sent  hither  by  your  king's  behest, 
While  in  Tantallon's  towers  I  staid, 
Part  we  in  friendship  from  your  land, 
And,  noble  Earl,  receive  my  hand." 
But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak. 
Folded  his  arms,  and  thus  he  sjjoke: 

"My  manors,  halls,  and  bowers  shall  still 
Be  open,  at  my  sovereign's  will, 
To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 
Unmeet  to  be  the  owner's  peer. 
My  castles  are  my  king's  alone. 
From  turret  to  foundation  stone; 
The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own; 
And  never  shall,  in  friendly  grasp, 
The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp." 

Burned  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire, 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire; 
And  — "This  to  me!"  he  said,— 
"An  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head ! 
And,  first,  I  tell  thee,  haughty  peer, 


SIXTH  READER.  177 

He  who  does  England's  message  here, 
Although  the  meanest  in  her  state, 
May  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate: 
And,  Douglas,  more,  I  tell  thee  here, 

Even  in  thy  pitch  of  j^ride, 
Here,  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near, 

I  tell  thee,  thou'rt  defied! 
And  if  thou  said'st  I  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, 
Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near, 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied ! " 

On  the  Earl's  cheek  the  flush  of  rage 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age. 
Fierce  he  broke  forth, — "And  dar'st  thou  then 
To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den, 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall? 
And  hop'st  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go? 
No,  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no ! 
Up  draw-bridge,  grooms,  —  what,  warder,  ho! 

Let  the  portcullis  fall." 
Lord  Marmion  turned, — well  was  his  need, — 
And  dashed  the  rowels  in  his  steed, 
Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung; 
The  ponderous  gate  behind  him  rung: 
To  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room, 
The  bars,  descending,  razed  his  plume. 

The  steed  along  the  draw-bridge  flies. 
Just  as  it  trembled  on  the  rise; 
Nor  lighter  does  the  swalloAV  skim 
Along  the  smooth  lake's  level  brim : 
And  when  lord  Marmion  reached  his  band 
He  halts,  and  turns  with  clenched  hand. 
And  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours, 
And  shook  his  gauntlet  at  the  towers. 


178  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

"Horse!  horse!"  the  Douglas  cried,  "and  chase!" 

But  soon  he  reined  his  fury's  pace: 

"A  royal  messenger  he  came, 

Though  most  unworthy  of  the  name. 

Saint  Mary  mend  my  fiery  mood ! 

Old  age  ne'er  cools  the  Douglas'  blood ; 

I  thought  to  slay  him  Avhere  he  stood. 

'Tis  pity  of  him,  too,"  he  cried; 

"Bold  he  can  speak,  and  fairly  ride; 

I  warrant  him  a  warrior  tried." 

With  this  his  mandate  he  recalls, 

And  slowly  seeks  his  castle  halls. 

—  Walter  Scott. 

Notes. — In  the  poem  from  which  this  extract  is  taken,  Mar- 
mion  is  represented  as  an  embassador  sent  by  Henry  VIII., 
king  of  England,  to  James  IV.,  king  of  Scotland,  who  w^ere  at 
war  with  each  other.  Having  finished  his  mission  to  James, 
Marmion  was  intrusted  to  the  protection  and  hospitality  of 
Douglas,  one  of  the  Scottish  nobles.  Douglas  entertained  him, 
treated  him  with  the  respect  due  to  his  office  and  to  the  honor 
of  his  sovereign,  yet  he  despised  his  private  character.  Mar- 
mion perceived  this,  and  took  umbrage  at  it,  though  he  at- 
tempted to  repress  his  resentment,  and  desired  to  part  in  peace. 
Under  these  circumstances  the  scene,  as  described  in  this 
sketch,  takes  place. 

Tantallon  is  the  name  of  the  Douglas  castle  at  Bothwell, 
Scotland. 


XLII.    THE   PRESENT. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter,  1825-1804,  is  the  daughter  of  Bryan  Waller 
Pi'octcr,  known  in  literature  as  "Barry  Cornwall."  She  is  the  anthor 
of  several  volumes  of  poetry,  and  was  a  contributor  to  "  Good  Words," 
"  All  the  Yenr  Round,"  and  other  London  periodicals.  Her  works  have 
been  re-published  in  America. 

Do  not  crouch  to-day,  and  worship 
The  dead  Past,  whose  life  is  fled; 


SIXTH  READEB.  179 

Hush  your  voice  in  tender  reverence; 

Crowned  he  lies,  but  cold  and  dead : 
For  the  Present  reigns,  our  monarch, 

With  an  added  weight  of  hours; 
Honor  her,  for  she  is  mighty! 

Honor  her,  for  she  is  ours! 

See  the  shadows  of  his  heroes 

Girt  around  her  cloudy  throne; 
Every  day  the  ranks  are  strengthened 

By  great  hearts  to  him  unknown; 
Noble  things  the  great  Past  promised, 

Holy  dreams,  both  strange  and  new; 
But  the  Present  shall  fulfill  them; 

What  he  promised,  she  shall  do. 


She  inherits  all  his  treasures. 

She  is  heir  to  all  his  fame. 
And-  the  light  that  lightens  round  her 

Is  the  luster  of  his  name; 
She  is  wise  with  all  his  wisdom, 

Living  on  his  grave  she  stands. 
On  her  brow  she  bears  his  laurels. 

And  his  harvest  in  her  hands. 


Coward,  can  she  reign  and  conquer 

If  we  thus  her  glory  dim? 
Let  us  fight  for  her  as  nobly 

As  our  fathers  fought  for  him. 
God,  who  crowns  the  dying  ages. 

Bids  her  rule,  and  us  obey, — 
Bids  us  cast  our  lives  before  her. 

Bids  us  serve  the  great  To-day. 


180  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


XLin.   THE  BAPTISM. 

John  "Wilson,  1785-18&1,  a  distinguished  Scottisli  author,  was  born  at 
Paisley.  Wlien  fifteen  years  of  age,  he  entered  the  University  of  Glas- 
gow ;  but,  three  years  later,  he  became  a  member  of  Magdalen  College, 
Oxford.  Here  he  attained  eminence  both  as  a  student  and  as  a  pro- 
ficient in  gymnastic  games  and  exercises.  Soon  after  graduating,  he 
purchased  an  estate  near  Lake  Windermere,  and  became  a  companion 
of  Wordsworth  and  Southey ;  but  he  soon  left  his  estate  to  reside  in 
Edinburgh.  In  1817,  when  "  Blackwood's  Magazine  "  was  established  in 
opposition  to  the  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  he  became  chief  contributor  to 
that  famous  periodical.  In  its  pages,  he  won  his  chief  fame  as  a  writer. 
In  1820,  he  succeeded  Dr.  Thomas  Brown  as  Professor  of  Moral  Philoso- 
phy in  the  University  of  Edinburgh ;  this  position  he  held  for  thirty 
years.  His  "  Lights  and  Shadows  of  Scottish  Life "  was  published  in 
1822.  This  is  a  collection  of  pathetic  and  beautiful  tales  of  domestic  life 
in  Scotland.  His  contributions  to  Blackwood  appeared  over  the  pseu- 
donym of  "  Christopher  North,"  or  more  familiarly,  "  Kit  North."  Pro- 
fessor Wilson  was  a  man  of  great  physical  power  and  of  striking  ap- 
pearance. In  chai-acter,  he  wa-s  vehement  and  impulsive;  but  his 
writings  show  that  he  possessed  feelings  of  deep  tenderness. 


The  rite  of  baptism  had  not  been  performed  for  several 
months  in  the  kirk  of  Lanark.  It  was  now  the  hottest 
time  of  persecution;  and  the  inhabitants  of  that  parish 
found  other  places  in  Avhich  to  worship  God,  and  celebrate 
the  ordinances  of  religion.  It  Avas  now  the  Sabbath-day, 
and  a  small  congregation  of  about  a  hundred  souls  had 
met  for  divine  service,  in  a  place  more  magnificent  than 
any  temple  that  human  hands  had  ever  built  to  Deity. 
The  congregation  had  not  assembled  to  the  toll  of  the 
bell,  but  each  heart  knew  the  hour  and  observed  it;  for 
there  are  a  hundred  sun-dials  among  the  hills,  Avoods,  moors, 
and  fields ;  and  the  shepherd  and  the  peasant  see  the  hours 
passing  by  them  in  sunshine  and  shadow. 

The  church  in  which  they  Avere  assembled,  Avas  hewn  by 
God's  hand  out  of  the  eternal  rock.  A  river  rolled  its 
way  through  a  mighty  chasm  of  clifls,  several  hundred 
feet  high,  of  which  the  one  side  presented  enormous  masses, 
and  the  other  corresponding  recesses,  as  if  the  great  stone 
girdle  had   been  rent  by  a  convulsion.     The   channel  Avas 


SIXTH  HEADER.  181 

overspread  with  prodigious  fragments  of  rocks  or  large 
loose  stoues,  some  of  them  smooth  aud  bare,  others  con- 
taining soil  and  verdure  in  their  rents  and  fissures,  and 
here  aud  there  crowned  with  shrubs  and  trees.  The  eye 
could  at  once  command  a  long-stretching  vista,  seemingly 
closed  and  shut  up  at  both  extremities  by  the  coalescing 
cliifs.  This  majestic  reach  of  river  contained  pools,  streams, 
and  Avaterfalls  innumerable ;  aud  when  the  Avater  was  low 
—  which  Avas  now  the  case,  in  the  common  drought — it  was 
easy  to  Avalk  up  this  scene  Avith  the  calm,  blue  sky  OA^er- 
head,  an  utter  and  sublime  solitude. 

On  looking  up,  the  soul  Avas  boAved  down  by  the  feeling 
of  that  prodigious  height  of  unscalable,  and  often  over- 
hanging, cliff.  BetAA'een  the  channel  and  the  summit  of  the 
far  extended  precipices,  AAcre  perpetually  flying  rooks  and 
Avood-pigeons,  and  uoav  and  then  a  haAvk,  filling  the  pro- 
found abyss  with  their  Avild  caAving,  deep  murmur,  or 
shrilly  shriek.  Sometimes  a  heron  Avould  stand  erect  and 
still,  on  some  little  stone  island,  or  rise  up  like  a  white 
cloud  along  the  black  Avails  of  the  chasm,  and  disappear. 
Winged  creatures  alone  could  inhabit  this  region.  The 
fox  and  Avild  cat  chose  more  accessible  haunts.  Yet,  here 
came  the  persecuted  Christians  and  worshiped  God,  Avhose 
hand  hung  OA^er  their  head  those  magnificent  pillars  and 
arches,  scooped  out  those  galleries  from  the  solid  rock, 
and  laid  at  their  feet  the  calm  Avater,  in  its  transparent 
beauty,  in  Avhich  they  could  see  themselves  sitting,  in 
reflected   groups,  Avith   their   Bibles   in   their   hands. 

Here,  upon  a  semicircular  ledge  of  rocks,  OA'er  a  narroAA' 
chasm,  of  Avhich  the  tiny  stream  played  in  a  murmuring 
Avater-fall,  and  divided  the  congregation  into  tAA'o  equal 
parts,  sat  about  a  hundred  persons,  all  dcA^outly  listening 
to  their  minister,  Avho  stood  before  them  on  Avhat  might 
be  called  a  small,  natui'al  pulpit  of  living  stone.  Up  to 
it  there  led  a  short  flight  of  steps,  and  over  it  AA-aA'ed  the 
canopy  of  a  tall,  graceful  birch  tree.     The  pulpit  stood  in 


182  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

the  middle  of  the  channel,  directly  facing  the  congregation, 
and  separated  from  them  by  the  clear,  deep,  sparkling 
pool,  into  which  the  scarce-heard  water  poured  over  the 
blackened  rock.  The  water,  as  it  left  the  pool,  separated 
into  two  streams,  and  flowed  on  each  side  of  that  altar, 
thus  placing  it  in  an  island,  whose  large,  mossy  stones 
were  richly  embowered  under  the  golden  blossoms  and 
green  tresses  of  the  broom. 

At  the  close  of  divine  service,  a  row  of  maidens,  all 
clothed  in  purest  white,  came  gliding  off  from  the  congre- 
gation, and,  crossing  the  murmuring  stream  on  stepping 
stones,  arranged  themselves  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit  with 
those  who  were  about  to  be  baptized.  Their  devout  fathers, 
just  as  though  they  had  been  in  their  own  kirk,  had  been 
sitting  there  during  worship,  and  now  stood  up  before  the 
minister.  The  baptismal  water,  taken  from  that  pellucid 
pool,  was  lying,  consecrated,  in  an  appropriate  receptacle, 
formed  by  the  upright  stones  that  composed  one  side  of 
the  pulpit,  and  the  holy  rite  proceeded. 

Some  of  the  younger  ones  in  that  semicircle  kept  gazing 
down  into  the  pool,  in  which  the  whole  scene  was  reflected; 
and  now  and  then,  in  spite  of  the  gi'ave  looks  and  admon- 
ishing Avhispers  of  their  elders,  letting  fall  a  pebble  into 
the  water,  that  they  might  judge  of  its  depth,  from  the 
length  of  time  that  elapsed  before  the  clear  air-bells  lay 
sparkling  on  the  agitated  surface.  The  rite  was  over,  and 
the  religious  service  of  the  day  closed  by  a  psalm.  The 
mighty  rocks  hemmed  in  the  holy  sound,  and  sent  it  in  a 
more  compact  volume,  clear,  sweet,  and  strong,  up  to 
heaven.  When  the  psalm  ceased,  an  echo,  like  a  spirit's 
voice,  was  heard  dying  away,  high  up  among  the  magnif- 
icent architecture  of  the  cliffs;  and  once  more  might  be 
noticed  in  the  silence,  the  reviving  voice  of  the  water-fall. 

Just  then,  a  large  stone  fell  from  the  top  of  the  cliff" 
into  the  pool,  a  loud  voice  was  heard,  and  a  plaid  was 
hung  over  on  the  point  of  a  shepherd's  staff*.  •  Their  wake- 


SIXTH  READER.  183 

fill  sentinel  had  descried  danger,  and  this  was  his  warning. 
Forthwith,  the  congregation  rose.  There  were  paths,  dan- 
gerous to  unpracticed  feet,  along  the  ledges  of  the  rocks, 
leading  up  to  several  caves  and  places  of  concealment. 
The  more  active  and  young  assisted  the  elder,  more  espe- 
cially the  old  pastor,  and  the  women  with  the  infants ;  and 
many  minutes  had  not  elapsed,  till  not  a  living  creature 
was  visible  in  the  channel  of  the  stream,  but  all  of  them 
were  hidden,  or  nearly  so,  in  the  clefts  and  caverns. 

The  shepherd  who  had  given  the  alarm,  had  lain  down 
again  instantly  in  his  plaid  on  the  green  sward,  upon  the 
summit  of  these  precipices.  A  party  of  soldiers  was  im- 
mediately upon  him,  and  demanded  what  signals  he  had 
been  making,  and  to  whom ;  when  one  of  them,  looking 
over  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  exclaimed,  "See,  see!  Hum- 
phrey, we  have  caught  the  whole  tabernacle  ©f  the  Lord 
in  a  net  at  last.  There  they  are,  praising  God  among  the 
stones  of  the  river  Mouse.  These  are  the  Cartland  Craigs. 
A  noble  cathedral!"  "Fling  the  lying  sentinel  over  the 
cliffs.  Here  is  a  canting  Covenanter  for  you,  deceiving 
honest  soldiers  on  the  very  Sabbath-day.  Over  with  him, 
over  with  him ;  out  of  the  gallery  into  the  pit."  But  the 
shepherd  had  vanished  like  a  shadow,  and,  mixing  with  the 
tall,  green  broom  and  bushes,  was  making  his  unseen  way 
toward  a  wood.  "Satan  has  saved  his  servant;  but  come, 
my  lads,  follow  me.  I  know  the  way  down  into  the  bed 
of  the  stream,  and  the  steps  up  to  Wallace's  Cave.  They 
are  called,  'kittle  nine  stanes.'  The  hunt's  up.  We'll  all 
be  in  at  the  death.     Halloo !  my  boys,  halloo ! " 

The  soldiers  dashed  down  a  less  precipitous  part  of  the 
wooded  banks,  a  little  below  the  "craigs,"  and  hurried  up 
the  channel.  But  when  they  reached  the  altar  where  the 
old,  gray-haired  minister  had  been  seen  standing,  and  the 
rocks  that  had  been  covered  with  people,  all  Avas  silent 
and  solitary;  not  a  creature  to  be  seen.  "Here  is  a  Bible, 
dropped   by  some  of  them,"  cried   a  soldier,  and,  with  his 


184  ECLECTIC  SERIES.  , 

foot,  he  spun  it  away  into  the  pool.  "A  bonnet,  a  bonnet," 
cried  another;  "now  for  the  pretty,  sanctified  face,  that 
rolled  its  demure  eyes  below  it."  But  after  a  few  jests 
and  oaths,  the  soldiers  stood  still,  eying  with  a  kind  of 
mysterious  dread  the  black  and  silent  walls  of  the  rocks 
that  hemmed  them  in,  and  hearing  only  the  small  voice 
of  the  stream  that  sent  a  profounder  stillness  through  the 
heart  of  that  majestic  solitude.  "  What  if  these  cowardly 
Covenanters  should  tumble  down  upon  our  heads  pieces  of 
rock,  from  their  hiding-places!     Advance,  or  retreat?" 

There  was  no  reply;  for  a  slight  fear  was  upon  every 
man.  Musket  or  bayonet  could  be  of  little  use  to  men 
obliged  to  clamber  up  rocks,  along  slender  paths,  leading 
they  know  not  where.  And  they  were  aware  that  armed 
men  nowadays  worshiped  God;  men  of  iron  hearts,  who 
feared  not  -the  glitter  of  the  soldier's  arms,  neither  barrel 
nor  bayonet ;  men  of  long  stride,  firm  step,  and  broad 
breast,  who,  on  the  open  field,  would  have  overthrown  the 
marshaled  line,  and  gone  first  and  foremost,  if  a  city  had 
to  be  taken  by  storm. 

As  the  soldiers  were  standing  together  irresolute,  a  noise 
came  upon  their  ears  like  distant  thunder,  but  even  more 
appalling ;  and  a  slight  current  of  air,  as  if  propelled  by 
it,  passed  whispering  along  the  sweet-briers,  and  the  broom, 
and  the  tresses  of  the  birch  trees.  It  came  deepening,  and 
rolling,  and  roaring  on ;  and  the  very  Cartland  Craigs 
shook  to  their  foundation,  as  if  in  an  earthquake.  "The 
Lord  have  mercy  upon  us!  What  is  this?"  And  down 
fell  many  of  the  miserable  wretches  on  their  knees,  and 
some  on  their  faces,  upon  the  sharp-pointed  rocks.  Now, 
it  was  Hke  the  sound  of  many  myriads  of  chariots  rolling 
on  their  iron  axles  down  the  strong  channel  of  the  torrent. 
The  old,  gray-haired  minister  issued  from  the  mouth  of 
Wallace's  Cave,  and  said,  in  a  loud  voice,  "The  Lord  God 
terrible  reigneth ! " 

A  water-spout  had   burst  up  among  the  moor-lands,  and 


SIXTH  READER.  185 

the  river,  in  its  power,  was  at  hand.  There  it  came, 
tumbling  aloug  into  that  long  reach  of  cliffs,  and,  in  a 
moment,  filled  it  with  one  mass  of  waves.  Huge,  agitated 
clouds  of  foam  rode  on  the  surface  of  a  blood-red  torrent. 
An  army  must  have  been  swept  off  by  that  flood.  The 
soldiers  perished  in  a  moment ;  but  high  up  in  the  cliffs, 
above  the  sweep  of  destruction,  were  the  Covenanters,  men, 
w^omen,  and  children,  uttering  jirayers  to  God,  unheard  by 
themselves,  in  the  raging  thunder. 

Notes. — Lanark  is  a  small  town  in  the  valley  of  the  Clyde, 
in  Scotland.     It  is  tliirty  miles  south-west  from  Edinburgh. 

Mouse  River  flows  to  the  Clyde  from  the  hills  north  of 
Lanark.  Covenanter. — Under  Charles  I.,  the  Scotch  were 
so  oppressed  that  they  organized  in  resistance.  The  covenant 
was  a  famous  pajaer,  largely  signed,  in  which  they  agreed  to 
continue  in  the  profession  of  their  faith,  and  resist  all  errors. 

Wallace's  Cave.— WilUam  Wallace  (b.  1270,  d.  1305)  was 
the  foremost  Scot  of  his  times.  He  was  declared,  in  the  al> 
sence  of  the  king,  guardian  of  the  kingdom.  More  than  once 
was  he  outlawed  and  obliged  to  seek  safety  by  concealment 
in  the  woods  and  caves. 


XLIV.    SPARROWS. 

Adeline  D.  Train  WTiitney,  1S24 ,  was  born  in  Boston,  and  was 

educated  in  the  school  of  Dr.  George  B.  Emerson.  Her  father  was  Enoch 
Train,  a  well-known  merchant  of  that  city;  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  she 
became  the  wife  of  Mr.  Setli  D.  Whitney.  Her  literary  career  began 
about  18.50,  since  which  time  she  has  written  several  novels  and  poems ;  a 
number  of  tliem  first  appeared  in  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly."  Her  writings 
are  marked  by  grace  aud  sprightliness. 

Little  birds  sit  on  the  telegraph  Avires, 

And  chitter,  and  flitter,  and  fold  their  wings ; 

May  be  they  think  that,  for  them  and  their  sires. 

Stretched  always,  on  purpose,  those  w'onderful  strings: 

And,  perhaps,  the  Thought  that  the  world  inspires, 
Did  plan  for  the  bu-ds,  among  other  things. 

6.— 16. 


186  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Little  birds  sit  on  the  slender  lines, 

And  the  news  of  the  world  runs  under  their  feet, — 
How  value  rises,  and  how  declines, 

How  kings  with  their  armies  in  battle  meet, — 
And,  all  the  while,  'mid  the  soundless  signs. 

They  chirp  their  small  gossipings,  foolish  sweet. 

Little  things  light  on  the  lines  of  our  lives, — 

Hopes,  and  joys,  and  acts  of  to-day, — 
And  we  think  that  for  these  the  Lord  contrives, 

Nor  catch  what  the  hidden  lightnings  say. 
Yet,  from  end  to  end,  His  meaning  arrives, 

And  His  word  runs  underneath,  all  the  way. 

Is  life  only  wires  and  lightning,  then. 

Apart  from  that  which  about  it  clings? 
Are  the  thoughts,  and  the  works,  and  the  prayers  of  men 

Only  sparrows  that  light  on  God's  telegraph  strings. 
Holding  a  moment,  and  gone  again  ? 

Nay ;  He  planned  for  the  birds,  with  the  larger  things. 


XLV.  OBSERVANCE  OF  THE  SABBATH. 

Gardiner  Spring,  1785-1873,  was  the  son  of  Samuel  Spring,  D.I).,  who 
was  pastor  of  a  Congregational  church  in  Newburyport,  Massachu- 
setts, for  more  than  forty  years.  The  son  entered  Yale  College,  and  was 
valedictorian  of  his  class  in  1805.  He  studied  law  for  a  time  ;  then  went  to 
Bermuda,  where  he  taught  nearly  two  years.  On  his  return  he  completed 
his  law  studies,  and  practiced  his  profession  for  more  than  a  year.  In 
1810,  having  studied  theologj'  at  Andover,  he  was  ordained  as  pastor  of  the 
"  Brick  Church  "  in  New  York  City.  Here  he  remained  till  his  death. 
He  was  elected  president  of  Dartmouth  College,  and  also  of  Hamilton, 
but  declined  both  positions.  His  works,  embracing  about  twenty  octavo 
volumes,  have  passed  through  se^■eral  editions;  some  have  been  trans- 
lated into  foreign  languages,  and  reprinted  in  Europe.  As  a  preacher,  Dr. 
Spring  was  eloquent  and  energetic. 

The  Sabbath  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  true  mo- 
rality.    Morality  flows  from  principle.     Let  the  principles 


SIXTH  READER.  187 

of  moral  obligation  become  relaxed,  and  the  practice  of 
morality  will  not  long  survive  the  overthrow.  No  man  can 
preserve  his  own  morals,  no  parent  can  preserve  the  morals 
of  his  children,  without  the  impressions  of  religious  obliga- 
tion. 

If  you  can  induce  a  community  to  doubt  the  genuine- 
ness and  authenticity  of  the  Scriptures ;  to  question  the 
reality  and  obligations  of  religion ;  to  hesitate,  undeciding, 
whether  there  be  any  such  thing  as  virtue  or  vice;  whether 
there  be  an  eternal  state  of  retribution  beyond  the  grave ; 
or  whether  there  exists  any  such  being  as  God,  you  have 
broken  down  the  barriers  of  moral  virtue,  and  hoisted  the 
flood-gates  of  immorality  and  crime.  I  need  not  say  that 
when  a  people  have  once  done  this,  they  can  no  longer  exist 
as  a  tranquil  and  hapjiy  people.  Every  bond  that  holds 
society  together  would  be  ruptured ;  fraud  and  treachery 
would  take  the  place  of  confidence  between  man  and  man; 
the  tribunals  of  justice  would  be  scenes  of  bribery  and  in- 
justice; avarice,  perjury,  ambition,  and  revenge  would  walk 
through  the  land,  and  render  it  more  like  the  dwelling  of 
savage  beasts  than  the  tranquil  abode  of  civilized  and 
Christianized  men. 

If  there  is  an  institution  which  opposes  itself  to  this 
progress  of  human  degeneracy,  and  throws  a  shield  before 
the  interests  of  moral  virtue  in  our  thoughtless  and  way- 
ward world,  it  is  the  Sabbath.  In  the  fearful  struggle  be- 
tween virtue  and  vice,  notwithstanding  the  powerful  auxil- 
iaries which  wickedness  finds  in  the  bosoms  of  men,  and  in 
the  seductions  and  influence  of  popular  example,  wherever 
the  Sabbath  has  been  suffered  to  live,  the  trembling  inter- 
ests of  moral  virtue  have  always  been  revered  and  sus- 
tained. One  of  the  principal  occupations  of  this  day  is  to 
illustrate  and  enforce  the  great  principles  of  sound  morality. 
Where  this  sacred  trust  is  preserved  inviolate,  you  behold 
a  nation  convened  one  day  in  seven  for  the  purpose  of  ac- 
quainting themselves  with  the  best  moral  principles  and  pre- 


188  ,  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

cepts;  and  it  can  not  be  otherwise  than  that  the  authority 
of  moral  virtue,  under  such  auspices,  should  be  acknowl- 
edged and  felt. 

We  may  not,  at  once,  perceive  the  effects  which  this 
weekly  observance  produces.  Like  most  moral  causes,  it 
operates  slowly;  but  it  operates  surely,  and  gradually  weak- 
ens the  power  and  breaks  the  yoke  of  profligacy  and  sin. 
No  villain  regards  the  Sabbath.  No  vicious  family  regards 
the  Sabbath.  No  immoral  community  regards  the  Sabbath. 
The  holy  rest  of  this  ever-memorable  day  is  a  barrier  Avhich 
is  always  broken  down  before  men  become  giants  in  sin. 
Blackstone,  in  his  Commentaries  on  the  Laws  of  England, 
remarks  that  ' '  a  corruption  of  morals  usually  follows  a 
profanation  of  the  Sabbath."  It  is  an  observation  of  Lord 
Chief-justice  Hale,  that  "of  all  the  persons  who  were  con- 
victed of  capital  crimes,  while  he  was  on  the  bench,  he 
found  a  few  only  who  would  not  confess  that  they  began 
their  career  of  wickedness  by  a  neglect  of  the  duties  of  the 
Sabbath  and  vicious  conduct  on  that  day." 

The  prisons  in  our  own  land  could  probably  tell  us 
that  they  have  scarcely  a  solitary  tenant  who  had  not 
broken  over  the  restraints  of  the  Sabbuth  before  he  was 
abandoned  to  crime.  You  may  enact  laws  for  the  suppres- 
sion of  immorality,  but  the  secret  and  silent  power  of  the 
Sabbath  constitutes  a  stronger  shield  to  the  vital  interest  of 
the  community  than  any  code  of  penal  statutes  that  ever 
was  enacted.  The  Sabbath  is  the  keystone  of  the  arch 
which  sustains  the  temple  of  virtue,  which,  however  de- 
faced, will  survive  many  a  rude  shock  so  long  as  the  foun- 
dation remains  firm. 

The  observance  of  the  Sabbath  is  also  most  influential 
in  securing  national  prosperity.  The  God  of  Heaven  has 
said,  "Them  that  honor  me  I  will  honor."  You  will  not 
often  find  a  notorious  Sabbath-breaker  a  permanently  pros- 
perous mUn ;  and  a  Sabbath-breaking  community  is  never  a 
happy  or  prosperous  community.     There  is  a  multitude  of 


SIXTH  READER.  189 

unobserved  influences  which  the  Sabbath  exerts  upon  the 
temporal  welfare  of  men.  It  promotes  the  spirit  of  good 
order  and  harmony ;  it  elevates  the  poor  from  want ;  it 
transforms  squalid  wretchedness;  it  imparts  self-respect  and 
elevation  of  character;  it  promotes  softness  and  civility  of 
manners;  it  brings  together  the  rich  and  the  poor  upon  one 
common  level  in  the  house  of  prayer;  it  purifies  and 
strengthens  the  social  afiections,  and  makes  the  family  circle 
the  center  of  allurement  and  the  source  of  instruction,  com- 
fort, and  happiness.  Like  its  own  divine  religion,  "  it  has 
the  promise  of  the  life  that  now  is  and  that  which  is  to 
come,"  for  men  can  not  put  themselves  beyond  the  reach 
of  hope  and  heaven  so  long  as  they  treasure  up  this  one 
command,  "Remember  the  Sabbath-day,  to  keep  it  holy." 

Notes.— Sir  "William  Blackstone  (b.  1723,  d.  1780)  was 
the  son  of  a  London  silk  mercer.  He  is  celebrated  •  as  the 
author  of  the  "  Commentaries  on  the  Laws  of  England,"  now 
universally  used  by  law  students  both  in  England  and 
America.  He  once  retired  from  the  law  through  failure  to 
secure  a  practice,  but  afterwards  attained  the  highest  honors 
in  his  i^rofession.      See  biographical  notice  on  page  410. 

Sir  Matthew  Hale  (b.  1609,  d.  1676),  was  Lord  Chief 
justice  of  England  from  1671  to  1676. 


XL VI.  GOD'S  GOODNESS  TO  SUCH  AS  FEAR  HIM. 

Fret  not  thyself  because  of  evil-doers. 

Neither  be  thou  envious  against  the  workers  of  iniquity ; 

For  they  shall  soon  be  cut  down  like  the  grass. 

And  wither  as  the  green  herb.       . 

Trust  in  the  Lord,  and  do  good ; 

So  shalt  thou  dwell  in  the  land,  and  verily  thou  shalt  be 

fed. 
Delight  thyself  also  in  the  Lord, 


190  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

And  he  shall  give  thee  the  desires  of  thine  heart. 

Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord; 

Trust  also  in  him,  and  he  shall  bring  it  to  pass. 

And  he  shall  bring  forth  thy  righteousness  as  the  light, 

And  thy  judgment  as  the  noonday. 

Rest  in  the  Lord,  and  wait  patiently  for  him. 

Fret  not  thyself  because  of  him  Avho  prosj^ereth  in  his  way, 

Because  of  the  man  who  bringeth  wicked  devices  to  pass. 

Cease  from  anger,  and  forsake  wrath: 

Fret  not  thyself  in  any  wise  to  do  evil, 

For  evil-doers  shall  be  cut  off: 

But  those  that  wait  upon  the  Lord,  they  shall  inherit  the 

earth. 
For  yet  a  little  while,  and  the  wicked  shall  not  be; 
Yea,  thou  shalt  diligently  consider  his  place,  and  it  shall 

not  be. 
But  the  meek  shall  inherit  the  earth, 
And  shall  delight  themselves  in  the  abundance  of  peace. 

A  little  that  a  righteous  man  hath 

Is  better  than  the  riches  of  many  wicked; 

For  the  arms  of  the  wicked  shall  be  broken. 

But  the  Lord  upholdeth  the  righteous. 

The  Lord  knoweth  the  days  of  the  upright, 

And  their  inheritance  shall  be  forever; 

They  shall  not  be  ashamed  in  the  evil  time. 

And  in  the  days  of  famine  they  shall  be  satisfied. 

But  the  wicked  shall  perish. 

And  the  enemies  of  the  Lord  shall  be  as  the  fat  of  lambs ; 

They  shall  consume ;  into  smoke  shall  they  consume  away. 

The  wicked  borroweth,  and  payeth  not  again; 

But  the  righteous  sheweth  mercy  and  giveth. 

For  such  as  be  blessed  of  him  shall  inherit  the  earth. 


SIXTH  RE  A  DEB.  191 

The  steps  of  a  good  man  are  ordered  by  the  Lord, 
And  he  delighteth  in  his  way ; 

Though  he  fall,  he  shall  not  be  utterly  cast  down; 
For  the  Lord  uplioldeth  him  with  his  hand. 

I  have  been  young,  and  now  am  old, 

Yet  have  I  not  seen  the  righteous  forsaken, 

Nor  his  seed  begging  bread. 

He  is  ever  merciful,  and  lendeth, 

And  his  seed  is  blessed. 

Depart  from  evil,  and  do  good, 

And  dwell  for  evermore; 

For  the  Lord  loveth  judgment, 

And  forsaketh  not  his  saints: 

They  are  preserved  for  ever: 

But  the  seed  of  the  wicked  shall  be  cut  off. 

The  righteous  shall  inherit  the  land, 

And  dwell  therein  for  ever. 

The  mouth  of  the  righteous  speaketh  wisdom, 

And  his  tongue  talketh  of  judgment ; 

The  law  of  his  God  is  in  his  heart; 

None  of  his  steps  shall  slide. 

The  wicked  Watclieth  the  righ'^eous, 

And  seeketh  to  slay  him. 

The  Lord  will  not  leave  him  in  his  hand, 

Nor  condemn  him  when  he  is  judged. 

Wait  on  the  Lord,  and  keep  his  way, 
And  he  shall  exalt  thee  to  inherit  the  land ; 
When  the  wicked  are  cut  off,  thou  shalt  see  it. 
I  have  seen  the  wicked  in  great  power. 
And  spreading  himself  like  a  green  bay-tree; 
Yet  he  passed  away,  and,  lo,  he  was  not; 
Yea,  I  sought  him,  but  he  could  not  be  found. 

— From  tJie   Tliirtyseventh  Psalm. 


192  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


XLVn.    CHARACTER   OF    COLUMBUS. 


"Washington  Irving,  1783-1859.  Among  those  whose  works  have  en- 
riched American  literature,  and  have  given  it  a  place  in  the  estimation  of 
foreigners,  no  name  stands  higher  than  that  of  Washington  Irving.  He 
was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York;  his  father  was  a  native  of  Scotland, 
and  his  mother  was  English.  He  had  an  ordinary  scliool  education,  and 
at  the  age  of  sixteen  began  the  study  of  law.  Two  of  his  older  brothers 
were  interested  In  literary  pursuits ;  and  in  liis  youth  he  studied  the  old 
English  autliors.  He  was  also  passionately  fond  of  books  of  travel.  At 
the  age  of  nineteen,  he  began  his  literary  career  by  writing  for  a  paper 
published  by  his  brother.  In  1804  he  made  a  voyage  to  the  south  of 
Europe.  On  his  return  he  completed  his  studies  in  law,  but  never  prac- 
ticed his  profession.  "  Salmagundi,"  his  first  book  (partly  written  by 
others),  was  published  in  ISiJ?.  This  was  followed,  two  years  later,  by 
"Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York."  Soon  after,  he  entered  into 
mercantile  pursuits  in  company  with  two  brothers.  At  the  close  of  the 
war  with  England  he  sailed  again  for  Europe,  and  remained  abroad  sev- 
enteen years.  During  his  absence  he  formed  the  acquaintance  of  the 
most  eminent  literary  men  of  his  time,  and  wrote  several  of  his  works; 
among  them  were :  "  The  Sketch  Book,"  "  Bracebridge  Hall,"  "  Tales  of  a 
Traveler,"  "Life  and  Voyages  of  Columbus,"  and  the  "  Conquest  of  Gra- 
nada." On  his  return  he  made  a  journey  west  of  the  Mississippi,  and  gath- 
ered materials  for  several  otlier  books.  From  1842  to  1846  he  was  Minister 
to  Spain.  On  his  return  to  America  he  established  his  residence  at 
"Sunnyside,"  nearTarrytown,  on  the  Hudson,  where  he  passed  the  last 
years  of  his  life.  A  young  lady  to  whom  he  was  attached  having  died  in 
early  life,  Mr.  Irving  never  married. 

His  works  are  marke'l  by  humor,  just  sentiment,  and  elegance  and  cor- 
rectness of  expression.  They  were  popular  both  at  home  and  abroad 
from  the  first,  and  their  sale  brought  him  a-liandsome  fortune.  The 
"  Life  of  Washington,"  his  last  work,  was  completed  in  the  same  year  in 
which  he  died. 


Columbus  was  a  man  of  great  and  inventive  genius. 
The  operations  of  his  mind  were  energetic,  but  irregular; 
bursting  forth,  at  times,  with  that  irresistible  force  which 
characterizes  intellect  of  such  an  order.  His  ambition  was 
lofty  and  noble,  inspiring  him  with  high  thoughts  and  an 
anxiety  to  distinguish  himself  by  great  achievements.  He 
aimed  at  dignity  and  wealth  in  the  same  elevated  spirit 
with  w^hich  he  sought  renown;  they  were  to  rise, from  the 
territories  he  should  discover,  and  be  commensurate  in  im- 
portance. 


SIXTH  READER.         .  193 

His  conduct  was  characterized  by  the  grandeur  of  his 
views  and  the  magnanimity  of  his  spirit.  Instead  of  ravag- 
ing the  newly-found  countries,  like  many  of  his  cotemporary 
discoverers,  who  were  intent  only  on  immediate  gain,  he 
regarded  them  with  the  eyes  of  a  legislator;  he  sought  to 
colonize  and  cultivate  them,  to  civilize  the  natives,  to  build 
cities,  introduce  the  useful  arts,  subject  every  thing  to  the 
control  of  law,  order,  and  religion,  and  thus  to  found  regu- 
lar and  prosperous  empires.  That  he  failed  in  this  was  the 
fault  of  the  dissolute  rabble  which  it  was  his  misfortune  to 
command,  with  whom  all  law  was  tyranny  and  all  order 
oppression. 

He  was  naturally  irascible  and  impetuous,  and  keenly 
sensible  to  injury  and  injustice;  yet  the  quickness  of  his 
temper  was  counteracted  by  the  generosity  and  benevolence 
of  his  heart.  The  magnanimity  of  his  nature  shone  forth 
through  all  the  troubles  of  his  stormy  career.  Though  con- 
tinually outraged  in  his  dignity,  braved  in  his  authority, 
foiled  in  his  plans,  and  endangered  in  his  person  by  the 
seditions  of  turbulent  and  Avorthless  men,  and  that,  too,  at 
times  when  suffering  under  anguish  of  body  and  anxiety  of 
mind  enough  to  exasjierate  the  most  patient,  yet  he  re- 
strained his  valiant  and  indignant  spirit,  and  brought  him- 
self to  forbear,  and  reason,  and  even  to  supplicate.  Nor 
can  the  reader  of  the  story  of  his  eventful  life  fail  to  notice 
how  free  he  was  from  all  feeling  of  revenge,  how  ready  to 
forgive  and  forget  on  tlie  least  sign  of  repentance  and 
atonement.  He  has  been  exalted  for  his  skill  in  controlling 
others,  but  far  greater  praise  is  due  to  him  for  the  firmnes.s 
he  displayed  in  governing  himself. 

His  piety  was  genuine  and  fervent.  Religion  mingled 
with  the  whole  course  of  his  thoughts  and  actions,  and 
shone  forth  in  his  most  private  and  unstudied  writings. 
Whenever  he  made  any  great  discovery  he  devoutly 
returned  thanks  to  God.  The  voice  of  prayer  and  the 
melody  of  praise  rose  from  his  ships  on  discovering  the  new 

6.— 17. 


194  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

world,  and  Ms  first  action  on  landing  was  to  prostrate  him- 
self upon  the  earth  and  offer  up  thanksgiving.  All  his 
great  enterprises  were  undertaken  in  the  name  of  the  Holy 
Trinity,  and  he  partook  of  the  holy  sacrament  previous  to 
embarkation.  He  observed  the  festivals  of  the  church  in 
the  wildest  situations.  The  Sabbath  was  to  him  a  day  of 
sacred  rest,  on  which  he  would  never  sail  ft'om  a  port  unless 
in  case  of  extreme  necessity.  The  religion  thus  deeply 
seated  in  his  soul  diffused  a  sober  dignity  and  a  benign 
composure  over  his  whole  deportment;  his  very  language 
was  pure  and  guarded,  and  free  from  all  gross  or  irreverent 
expressions. 

A  peculiar  trait  in  his  rich  and  varied  character  re- 
mains to  be  noticed;  namely,  that  ardent  and  enthusiastic 
imagination  Avhich  threw  a  magnificence  over  his  whole 
course  of  thought.  A  poetical  temperament  is  discernible 
throughout  all  his  writings  and  in  all  his  actions.  We  see 
it  in  all  his  descriptions  of  the  beauties  of  the  wild  land  he 
was  discovering,  in  the  enthusiasm  with  which  he  extolled 
the  blandness  of  the  temperature,  the  purity  of  the  atmos- 
pbere,  the  fragrance  of  the  air,  "full  of  dew  and  sweet- 
ness," the  verdure  of  the  forests,  the  grandeur  of  the  mount- 
ains, and  the  crystal  purity  of  the  running  streams.  It 
spread  a  glorious  and  golden  world  around  him,  and  tinged 
every  thing  with  its  own  gorgeous  colors. 

With  all  the  visionary  fervor  of  his  imagination,  its 
fondest  dreams  fell  short  of  the  reality.  He  died  in  igno- 
rance of  the  real  grandeur  of  his  discovery.  Until  his  last 
breath,  he  entertained  the  idea  that  he  had  merely  opened  a 
new  way  to  the  old  resorts  of  opulent  commerce,  and  had 
discovered  some  of  the  wild  regions  of  the  East.  What 
visions  of  glory  would  have  broken  upon  his  mind  could  he 
have  known  that  he  had  indeed  discovered  a  new  continent 
equal  to  the  old  world  in  magnitude,  and  separated  by  two 
vast  oceans  from  all  the  earth  hitherto  known  by  civilized 
man!     How  would  his  magnanimous  spirit  have  been  con- 


I 


SIXTH  READER.  195 

soled  amid  the  afflictions  of  age  and  the  cares  of  penury, 
the  neglect  of  a  fickle  public  and  the  injustice  of  an  un- 
grateful king,  could  he  have  anticipated  the  splendid  em- 
pires which  would  arise  in  the  beautiful  world  he  had  dis- 
covered, and  the  nations,  and  tongues,  and  languages 
which  were  to  fill  its  land  with  his  renown,  and  to  revere 
and  bless  his  name  to  the  latest  posterity ! 

Note. — Christopher  Columbus  (b.  1436,  d.  1506)  was  the 
son  of  a  wool-comber  of  Genoa.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  he  be- 
came a  sailor,  and  in  his  voyages  visited  England,  Iceland,  the 
Guinea  coast,  and  the  Greek  Isles.  He  was  an  earnest  student 
of  navigation,  of  cosmography,  and  of  books  of  travel;  thus  he 
thoroughly  prepared  himself  for  the  great  undertaking  which 
led  to  the  discovery  of  America.  He  struggled  against  every 
discouragement  for  almost  ten  years  before  he  could  persuade 
-a  sovereign  to  authorize  and  equip  his  expedition. 


XL VIII.    "  HE   GIVETH    HIS    BELOVED    SLEEP." 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning,  1809-1861.  Miss  Barrett  was  born  in 
London,  married  the  poet  Robert  Browning  in  18i6,  and  afterwards  re- 
sided in  Italy  most  of  the  time  till  her  death,  which  occurred  at  Flor- 
ence. She  was  thoroughly  educated  in  severe  and  masculine  studies, 
and  began  to  write  at  a  very  early  age.  Her  "  Essay  on  Mind,"  a  met- 
aphysical and  reflective  poem,  was  written  at  the  age  of  sixteen.  She 
wrote  very  rapidly,  and  her  friend,  Miss  Mitford,  tells  us  that  "  Lady 
Geraldine's  Courtship,"  containing  ninety-three  stanzas,  was  composed 
in  twelve  hours!  She  published  several  other  long  poems,  "Aurora 
Leigh  "  being  one  of  the  most  highly  finished.  Mrs.  Browning  is  re- 
garded as  one  of  the  most  able  female  poets  of  modern  times;  but  her 
writings  are  often  obscure,  and  .some  have  doubted  whether  she  always 
clearly  conceived  what  she  meant  to  express.  She  had  a  warm  sym- 
pathy with  all  forms  of  suffering  and  distress.  "  He  Giveth  his  Beloved 
Sleep  "  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  her  minor  poems.  The  thought 
is  an  amplification  of  verse  2d  of  Psalm  cxxvii. 

Of  all  the  thoughts  of  God  that  are 
Borne  inward  unto  souls  afar. 

Along  the  Psalmist's  music  deep, 
Now  tell  me  if  that  any  is, 


196  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

For  gift  or  grace,  surpassing  this, — 
"He  giveth  his  beloved,  sleep!" 

What  would  we  give  to  our  beloved? 
The  hero's  heart  to  be  unmoved, 

The  poet's  star-tuned  harp,  to  sweep. 
The  patriot's  voice,  to  teach  and  rouse. 
The  monarch's  crown,  to  light  the  brows? — 

"He  giveth  his  beloved,  sleep." 

What  do  we  give  to  our  beloved? 
A  little  faith  all  undisproved, 

A  little  dust  to  overweep, 
And  bitter  memories  to  make 
The  whole  earth  blasted  for  our  sake, — 

"  He  giveth  his  beloved,  sleep." 

"Sleep  soft,  beloved!"  we  sometimes  say. 
But  have  no  tune  to  charm  away 

Sad  dreams  that  through  the  eyelids  creep. 
But  never  doleful  dream  again 
Shall  break  his  haj)py  slumber  when 
"He  giveth  his  beloved,  sleep." 

O  earth,  so  full  of  dreaxy  noises  I 
O  men,  with  wailing  in  your  voices! 

O  delved  gold,  tlie  wailers  heap! 
O  strife,  O  curse,  tliat  o'er  it  fall ! 
God  strikes  a  silence  through  you  all. 

And  "giveth  his  beloved,  sleep." 

His  dews  drop  mutely  on  the  hill ; 
His  cloud  above  it  saileth  still. 

Though  on  its  slope  men  sow  and  reap. 


SIXTH  READER.  197 

More  softly  than  the  clew  is  shed, 
Or  cloud  is  floated  overhead, 
"He  giveth  his  beloved,  sleep." 

Ay,  men  may  wonder  Avhile  they  scan 
A  living,  thinking,  feeling  man, 

Confirmed  in  such  a  rest  to  keep ; 
But  angels  say  —  and  through  the  word 
I  think  their  happy  smile  is  heard  — 

"He  giveth  his  beloved,  sleep." 

For  me  my  heart,  that  erst  did  go 
Most  like  a  tired  child  at  a  show. 

That  sees  through   tears  the  mummers  leap, 
Would  now  its  wearied  vision  close. 
Would  childlike  on  his  love  repose 

Who  "givetli  his  beloved,  sleep." 

And  friends,  dear  friends, — when  it  shall  be 
That  this  low  breath  is  gone  from  me, 

And  round  my  bier  ye  come  to  weep. 
Let  one  most  loving  of  you  all 
Say,  "Not  a  tear  must  o'er  her  fall; 

'He  giveth  his  beloved,  sleep.'" 


XLIX.    DESCRIPTION    OF    A    SIEGE. 

"The  skirts  of  the  wood  seem  lined  with  archers,  al- 
though only  a  few  are  advanced  from  its  dark  shadow." 
"Under  what  banner?"  asked  Ivanhoe.  "Under  no  ensign 
which  I  can  observe,"  answered  Eebecca.  "  A  singular 
novelty,"  nmttered  the  knight,  "  to  advance  to  storm  such 
a  castle  without    pennon  or  banner  displayed.     Seest   thou 


198  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

who  they  be  that  act  as  leaders?"  "A  knight  clad  in 
sable  armor  is  the  most  conspicuous,"  said  the  Jewess:  "he 
alone  is  armed  from  head  to  heel,  and  seems  to  assume  the 
direction  of  all  around  him." 

"Seem  there  no  other  leaders?"  exclaimed  the  anxious 
inquirer.  "None  of  mark  and  distinction  that  I  can  be- 
hold from  this  station,"  said  Rebecca,  "  but  doubtless  the 
other  side  of  the  castle  is  also  assailed.  They  seem,  even 
now,  preparing  to  advance.  God  of  Zion  protect  us! 
What  a  dreadful  sight !  Those  who  advance  first  bear 
huge  shields  and  defenses  made  of  plank:  the  others  follow, 
bending  their  bows  as  they  come  on.  They  raise  their 
bows!  God  of  Moses,  forgive  the  creatures  thou  hast 
made ! " 

Her  description  was  here  suddenly  interrupted  by  the 
signal  for  assault,  which  was  given  by  the  blast  of  a  shrill 
bugle,  and  at  once  answered  by  a  flourish  of  the  Norman 
trumpets  from  the  battlements,  which,  mingled  with  the 
deep  and  hollow  clang  of  the  kettle-drums,  retorted  in  notes 
of  defiance  the  challenge  of  the  enemy.  The  shouts  of 
both  parties  augmented  the  fearful  din,  the  assailants  cry- 
ing, "Saint  George,  for  merry  England!"  and  the  Nor- 
mans answering  them  with  loud  cries  of  "Onward,  De 
Bracy !     Front  de  Boeuf,  to  the  rescue !  " 

"And  I  must  lie  here  like  a  bed-ridden  monk,"  exclaimed 
Ivauhoe,  "  w'hile  the  game  that  gives  me  freedom  or  death 
is  played  out  by  the  hand  of  others!  Look  from  the 
window  once  again,  kind  maiden,  and  tell  me  if  they  yet 
advance  to  the  storm."  With  j)atient  courage,  strengthened 
by  the  interval  which  she  had  employed  in  mental  devotion, 
Kebecca  again  took  post  at  the  lattice,  sheltering  herself, 
however,  so  as  not  to  be  exposed  to  the  arrows  of  the  arch- 
ers. "What  dost  thou  see,  Rebecca?"  again  demanded  the 
Avounded  knight.  "Nothing  but  the  cloud  of  arrows  flying 
80  thick  as  to  dazzle  mine  eyes,  and  to  hide  the  bowmen 
who  shoot  them."     "That  can  not  endure,"  said  Ivanhoe. 


SIXTH  READEB.  199 

"  If  they  press  not  right  on,  to  carry  the  castle  by  force  of 
arms,  the  archery  may  avail  but  little  against  stone  walls 
and  bulwarks.  Look  for  the  knight  in  dark  armor,  fair 
Rebecca,  and  see  how  he  bears  himself;  for  as  the  leader 
is,  so  will  his  followers  be." 

"I  see  him  not,"  said  Rebecca.  "Foul  craven!"  ex- 
claimed Ivanhoe;  "does  he  blench  from  the  helm  when  the 
wind  blows  highest?"  "He  blenches  not!  he  blenches 
not!"  said  Rebecca;  "I  see  him  now:  he  leads  a  body  of 
men  close  under  the  outer  barrier  of  the  barbacan.  They 
pull  down  the  piles  and  palisades;  they  hew  down  the  bar- 
riers with  axes.  His  high,  black  plume,  floats  abroad  over 
the  throng  like  a  raven  over  the  field  of  the  slain.  They 
have  made  a  breach  in  the  barriers,  they  rush  in,  they  are 
thrust  back!  Front  de  Boeuf  heads  the  defenders.  I  see 
his  gigantic  form  above  the  press.  They  throng  again  to 
the  breach,  and  the  pass  is  disputed,  hand  to  hand,  and 
man  to  man.  God  of  Jacob!  it  is  the  meeting  of  two 
fierce  tides,  the  conflict  of  two  oceans  moved  by  adverse 
winds ; "  and  she  turned  her  head  from  the  window  as  if 
unable  longer  to  endure  a  sight  so  terrible. 

Speedily  recovering  her  self-control,  Rebecca  again  looked 
forth,  and  almost  immediately  exclaimed,  "Holy  prophets 
of  the  law!  Front  de  Boiuf  and  the  Black  Knight  fight 
hand  to  hand  on  the  breach,  amid  the  roar  of  their  follow- 
ers, who  watch  the  progress  of  the  strife.  Heaven  strike 
with  the  cause  of  the  oppressed  and  of  the  captive ! "  She 
then  uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and  exclaimed,  "He  is  down! 
he  is  down!"  "Who  is  down!"  cried  Ivanhoe;  "for  our 
dear  Lady's  sake,  tell  me  which  has  fallen!"  "The  Black 
Knight,"  answered  Rebecca,  faintly ;  then  instantly  again 
shouted  with  joyful  eagerness  —  "But  no!  but  no!  the 
name  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts  be  blessed !  he  is  on  foot  again, 
and  fights  as  if  there  were  twenty  men's  strength  in  his 
single  arm  —  his  sword  is  broken  —  he  snatches  an  ax  from 
a  yeoman  —  he  presses  Front  de  Boeuf,  blow  on  blow  —  the 


200  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

giant  stoops  and  totters  like  an  oak  under  the  steel  of  the 
woodman — he  falls  —  he  falls!"  "Front  de  Boeuf?"  ex- 
claimed Ivanhoe.  "Front  de  Bceuf,"  answered  the  Jewess; 
"  his  men  rush  to  the  rescue,  headed  by  the  haughty 
Templar,  —  their  united  force  compels  the  champion  to 
pause  —  they  drag  Front  de  Boeuf  within  the  walls." 

"The  assailants  have  won  the  barriers,  have  they  not?" 
said  Ivanhoe.  "They  have — they  have  —  and  they  press 
the  besieged  hard  upon  the  outer  wall;  some  plant  ladders, 
some  swarm  like  bees,  and  endeavor  to  ascend  upon  the 
shoulders  of  each  other ;  down  go  stones,  beams,  and  trunks 
of  trees  upon  their  heads,  and  as  fast  as  they  bear  the 
wounded  to  the  rear,  fresh  men  supply  their  places  in  the 
assault.  Great  God !  hast  thou  given  men  thine  own 
image  that  it  should  be  thus  cruelly  defaced  by  the  hands 
of  their  brethren!"  "Think  not  of  that,"  replied  Ivanhoe; 
"this  is  no  time  for  such  thoughts.  Who  yield?  Who 
push  their  way?" 

"The  ladders  are  thrown  down,"  replied  Rebecca,  shud- 
dering; "  the  soldiers  lie  groveling  under  them  like  crushed 
reptiles;  the  besieged  have  the  better."  "Saint  George 
strike  for  us!"  said  the  knight;  "do  the  false  yeomen  give 
way?"  "No,"  exclaimed  Rebecca,  "they  bear  themselves 
right  yeomanly ;  the  Black  Knight  approaches  the  postern 
Avith  his  huge  ax  :  the  thundering  blows  whicli  he  deals, 
you  may  hear  them  above  all  the  din  and  shouts  of  the 
battle;  stones  and  beams  are  hailed  down  on  the  brave 
champion ;  he  regards  them  no  more  than  if  they  were 
thistle-down  and  feathers." 

"Saint  John  of  Acre!"  said  Ivanhoe,  raising  himself 
joyfully  on  his  couch,  "  methought  there  was  but  one  man 
in  England  that  might  do  such  a  deed."  "The  postern 
gate  shakes,"  continued  Rebecca;  "it  crashes  —  it  is  splin- 
tered by  his  powerful  blows  —  they  rush  in  —  the  outwork 
is  won !  O  God !  they  hurry  the  defenders  from  the  battle- 
ments—  they  throw  them  into  the  moat!     O  men,  if  ye  be 


SIXTH  READER.  201 

indeed  men,  spare  them  that  can  resist  no  longer!"  "The 
bridge  —  the  bridge  which  communicates  with  the  castle  — 
have  they  won  that  pass?"  exclaimed  Ivanhoe.  "No,"  re- 
plied Rebecca;  "the  Templar  has  destroyed  the  plank  on 
which  they  crossed  —  few  of  the  defenders  escaped  with 
him  into  the  castle  —  the  shrieks  and  cries  which  you  hear, 
tell  the  fate  of  the  others.  Alas!  I  see  that  it  is  still  more 
difficult  to  look  upon  victory  than  upon  battle." 

"What  do  they  now,  maiden?"  said  Ivanhoe;  "look 
fortt  yet  again  —  this  is  no  time  to  faint  at  bloodshed." 
"It  is  over,  for  a  time,"  said  Rebecca;  "our  friends 
strengthen  themselves  within  the  outwork  which  they  have 
mastered."  "Our  friends,"  said  Ivanhoe,  "  Avill  surely  not 
abandon  an  enterprise  so  gloriously  begun,  and  so  happily 
attained;  Oh  no!  I  will  put  my  faith  in  the  good  knight 
whose  ax  has  rent  heart  of  oak  and  bars  of  iron.  Singu- 
lar," he  again  muttered  to  himself,  "if  there  can  be  two 
who  are  capable  of  such  achievements.  It  is,  — it  must  be 
Richard  Coeur  de  Lion." 

"  Seest  thou  nothing  else,  Rebecca,  by  which  the  Black 
Knight  may  be  distinguished?"  "Nothing,"  said  the  Jew- 
ess, "all  about  him  is  as  black  as  the  wing  of  the  night- 
raven.  Nothing  can  I  spy  that  can  mark  him  further ; 
but  having  once  seen  him  put  forth  his  strength  in  battle, 
methinks  I  could  know  him  again  among  a  thousand  war- 
riors. He  rushes  to  the  fray  as  if  he  were  summoned  to  a 
banquet.  There  is  more  than  mere  strength ;  it  seems  as 
if  the  whole  soul  and  spirit  of  the  champion  were  given  to 
every  blow  which  he  deals  upon  his  enemies.  God  forgive 
him  the  sin  of  bloodshed !  it  is  fearful,  yet  magnificent,  to 
behold  how  the  arm   and   heart  of  one  man  can  triumph 

over  hundreds." 

—  Walter  Scott. 


Notes. — Ivanhoe,  a  wounded  knight,  and  Rebecca,  a  Jew- 
ess, had  been  imprisoned  in  the  castle  of  Reginald.  Front  de 


202  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Boeuf.  The  friends  of  the  prisoners  undertake  their  rescue. 
At  the  request  of  Ivanhoe,  who  is  unable  to  leave  his  couch, 
Rebecca  takes  her  stand  near  a  window  overlooking  the  ap- 
proach to  the  castle,  and  details  to  the  knight  the  incidents  of 
the  contest  as  they  take  place.  Front  de  Boeuf  and  his  gar- 
rison were  Normans;  the  besiegers,  Saxons. 

The  castles  of  this  time  (twelfth  century)  usually  con- 
sisted of  a  keep,  or  castle  proper,  surrounded  at  some  dis- 
tance by  two  walls,  one  within  the  other.  Each  wall  was  en- 
circled on  its  outer  side  by  a  moat,  or  ditch,  which  was  filled 
with  water,  and  was  crossed  by  means  of  a  dra"W-brid.ge.  Be- 
fore the  main  entrance  of  the  outer  wall  was  an  outwork  called 
the  barbacan,  which  was  a  high  wall  surmounted  by  battle- 
ments and  turrets,  built  to  defend  the  gate  and  draw-bridge. 
Here,  also,  were  placed  barriers  of  palisades,  etc.,  to  impede 
the  advance  of  an  attacking  force.  The  postern  gate  was 
small,  and  was  usually  some  distance  from  the  ground;  it  was 
used  for  the  egress  of  messengers  during  a  siege. 


L.    MARCO  BOZZARIS. 


Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  1790-1867,  vvjis  born  in  Guilford,  Connecticut. 
At  the  age  of  eighteen  lie  entered  a  biinliiug-house  in  New  Yorli,  where 
he  remained  a  long  time.  For  many  years  he  was  book-keeper  and  assist- 
ant in  business  for  John  Jacob  Astor.  Nearly  all  his  poems  were  written 
before  he  was  forty  years  old,  several  of  tliem  in  connection  with  his 
friend  Joseph  Rodman  Dralte.  His  "Young  America,"  however,  was 
written  but  a  few  years  before  his  death.  Mr.  Halleck's  poetry  is  care- 
fully finished  and  musical ;  much  of  it  is  sportive,  and  some  satirical.  No 
one  of  his  poems  is  better  known  than  "  Marco  Bozzaris." 


At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent, 
The  Turk  was  dreaming  of  the  hour 

When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent, 
Should  tremble  at  his  power. 

In  dreams,  through  camp  and  court  he  bore 

The  trophies  of  a  conqueror; 

In  dreams,  his  song  of  tritnnph  heard ; 


SIXTH  READER.  203 

Then  wore  his  monarch's  signet-ring: 
Then  pressed  that  monarch's  throne  —  a  king: 
As  wild  his  thoughts,  and  gay  of  wing, 
As  Eden's  garden  bird. 

At  midnight,  in  the  forest  shades, 

Bozzaris  ranged  his  Suliote  band. 
True  as  the  steel  of  their  tried  blades, 

Heroes  in  heart  and  hand. 
There  had  the  Persian's  thousands  stood. 
There  had  the  glad  earth  drunk  their  blood. 

On  old  Platsea's  day : 
And  now  there  breathed  that  haunted  air. 
The  sons  of  sires  who  conquered  there. 
With  arms  to  strike,  and  soul  to  dare, 

As  quick,  as  far  as  they. 

An  hour  passed  on  —  the  Turk  awoke; 

That  bright  dream  Avas  his  last: 
He  woke  —  to  hear  his  sentries  shriek, 
"To  arms!  they  come!  the  Greek!  the  Greek!" 
He  wojie  —  to  die  mid  flame  and  smoke. 
And  shout,  and  groan,  and  saber-stroke, 

And  death-shots  falling  thick  and  fast 
As  lightnings  from  the  mountain-cloud; 
And  heard,  with  voice  as  trumpet  loud, 

Bozzaris  cheer  his  band: 
"Strike  —  till  the  last  armed  foe  expires; 
Strike  —  for  your  altars  and  your  fires; 
Strike  —  for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires ; 

God — and  your  native  land!" 

They  fought — like  brave  men,  long  a«d  Avell; 
They  piled  that  ground  with  Moslem  slain; 
They  conquered  —  but  Bozzaris  fell, 


204  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Bleeding  at  every  vein. 
His  few  surviving  comrades  saw 
His  smile,  when  rang  their  proud  hurrah, 

And  the  red  field  was  won : 
Then  saw  in  death  his  eyelids  close 
Calmly,  as  to  a  night's  repose, 

Like  flowers  at  set  of  sun. 

Come  to  the  bridal  chamber.  Death! 

Come  to  the  mother,  when  she  feels 
For  the  first  time  her  first-born's  breath  ; 

Come  when  the  blessed  seals 
That  close  the  pestilence  are  broke. 
And  crowded  cities  wail  its  stroke; 
Come  in  consumption's  ghastly  form. 
The  earthquake's  shock,  the  ocean  storm; 
Come  when  the  heart  beats  high  and  warm 

With  banquet-song,  and  dance,  and  wine: 
And  thou  art  terrible  —  the  tear. 
The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier. 
And  all  Ave  know,  or  dream,  or  fear 

Of  agony,  are  thine. 
But  to  the  hero,  when  his  sword 

Has  won  the  battle  for  the  free, 
Thy  voice  sounds  like  a  prophet's  word ; 
And  in  its  hollow  tones  are  heard 

The  thanks  of  millions  yet  to  be. 

Bozzaris!  with  the  storied  brave 

Greece  nurtured  in  her  glory's  time. 
Rest  thee — there  is  no  prouder  grave 

Even  in  her  own  proud  clime. 

We  tell  thy  doom  without  a  sigh. 
For  thou  art  Freedom's,  now,  and  Fame's. 
One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names, 

That  Avei'e  not  born  to  die. 


SIXTH  READER.  205 

Notes. — Marco  Bozzaris  (b.  about  1790,  d.  1823)  was  a 
famous  Gi'eek  patriot.  His  family  were  Suliotes,  a  people  in- 
habiting the  Suli  Mountains,  and  bitter  enemies  of  the  Turks. 
Bozzaris  was  engaged  in  war  against  the  latter  nearly  all  his 
life,  and  finally  fell  in  a  night  attack  upon  their  camp  near 
Carpenisi.  This  poem,  a  fitting  tribute  to  his  memory,  har 
been  translated  into  modern  Greek. 

Plataea  was  the  scene  of  a  great  victory  of  tlie  Greeks  over 
the  Persians  in  the  year  479  B.  C. 

Moslera. — The  followers  of  Mohammed  are  called  Moslems. 


LI.  SONG  OP  THE  GREEK  BARD. 

George  Gordon  Byron,  Lord  Byron,  1788-1824.  This  gifted  poet  was 
the  sou  of  a  profligate  father  and  of  a  fickle  and  passionate  mother.  He 
was  afflicted  with  lameness  fi-om  his  birth;  and,  although  he  succeeded 
to  his  great-uncle's  title  at  ten  years  of  age,  he  inherited  financial  em- 
barrassment with  it.  These  may  be  some  of  the  reasons  for  the  morbid 
and  wayward  character  of  the  youthful  genius.  It  is  certain  that  he  was 
not  lacking  in  affection,  nor  in  generosity.  In  his  college  days,  at  Cam- 
bridge, he  was  willful  and  carelessof  his  studies.  "  Hours  of  Idleness,"  his 
first  book,  appeared  in  1807.  It  was  severely  treated  by  the  "Edinburgh 
Review,"  which  called  forth  his  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers," 
in  1809.  Soon  after,  he  went  abroad  for  two  j^oars ;  and,  on  his  return,  pub- 
lished the  first  two  cantos  of  "  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,"  a  work  that 
made  him  suddenly  famous.  He  married  in  1815,  but  separated  from  his 
wife  after  one  year.  Soured  and  bitter,  he  now  left  England,  purposing 
never  to  return.  He  spent  most  of  the  next  seven  years  in  Italy,  Avhere 
most  of  his  poems  were  written.  The  last  year  of  his  life  was  spent  in 
Greece,  aiding  in  her  struggle  for  liberty  against  the  Turks.  He  died  at 
Missolonghi.  As  a  man,  Byron  was  impetuous,  morbid  and  passionate. 
He  was  undoubtedly  dissipated  and  immoral,  but  perhaps  to  a  less  de- 
gree than  has  sometimes  been  asserted.  As  a  poet,  he  possessed  noble 
powers,  and  he  has  written  much  that  will  last;  in  general,  however,  his 
poetry  is  not  wholesome,  and  his  fame  is  less  than  it  once  was. 

The  isles  of  Greece !  the  isles'  of  Greece ! 

Where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung, 
Where  grew  the  arts  of  war  and  peace, — 

Where  Delos  rose,  and  Phoebus  sprung! 
Eternal  summer  gilds  them  yet, 
But  all,  except  their  sun,  is  set. 


206  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

The  Scian  and  the  Teian  muse, 

The  hero's  harp,  the  lover's  lute, 
Have  found  the  fame  your  shores  refuse; 
-  Their  place  of  birth  alone  is  mute 

To  sounds  which  echo  further  west 
Than  your  sires'  "Islands  of  the  Blest." 

The  mountains  look  on  Marathon, 
And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea; 

And  musing  there  an  hour  alone, 

I  dreamed  that  Greece  might  still  be  free; 

For,  standing  on  the  Persian's  grave, 

I  could  not  deem  myself  a  slave. 

A  king  sat  on  the  rocky  brow 

Which  looks  o'er  sea-born  Salamis ; 

And  ships,  by  thousands,  lay  below. 
And  men  in*  nations, — all  were  his! 

He  counted  them  at  break  of  day, — 

And  when  the  sun  set,  where  were  they? 

And  where  are  they?     And  where  art  thou. 
My  country?     On  thy  voiceless  shore 

The  heroic  lay  is  tuneless  now, — 
The  heroic  bosom  beats  no  more! 

And  must  thy  lyre,  so  long  divine, 

Degenerate  into  hands  like  mine? 

Must  we  but  weep  o'er  days  more  blest? 

Must  we  but  blush?     Our  fathers  bled. 
Earth!  render  back  from  out  thy  breast 

A  remnant  of  our  Spartan  dead ! 
Of  the  three  hundred,  grant  but  three. 
To  make  a  new  Thermopylie! 


SIXTH  READER.  207 

What!  silent  still?  and  silent  all? 

Ah !  no ;  — ■  the  voices  of  the  dead 
Sound  like  a  distant  torrent's  fall, 

And  answer,  "Let  one  living  head, 
But  one,  arise, —  we  come,  we  come!" 
'Tis  but  the  living  who  are  dumb! 

In  vain — in  vain! — strike  other  chords; 

Fill  high  the  cup  with  Samian  wine ! 
Leave  battles  to  the  Turkish  hordes. 

And  shed  the  blood  of  Scio's  vine ! 
Hark!  rising  to  the  ignoble  call, 
How  answers  each  bold  Bacchanal! 

You  have  the  Pyrrhic  dance  as  yet; 

Where  is  the  Pyrrhic  phalanx  gone? 
Of  two  such  lessons,  why  forget 

The  nobler  and  the  manlier  one? 
You  have  the  letters  Cadmus  gave; 
Think  ye  he  meant  them  for  a  slave? 

Fill  high  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine ! 

We  will  not  think  of  themes  like  these! 
It  made  Anacreon's  song  divine: 

He  served,  but  served  Poly  crates, 
A  tyrant ;  but  our  masters  then 
Were  still,  at  least,  our  countrymen. 

The  tyrant  of  the  Chersonese 

Was  freedom's  best  and  bravest  friend ; 

That  tyrant  was  Miltiades ! 

Oh  that  the  present  hour  would  lend 

Another  despot  of  the  kind  ! 

Such  chains  as  his  were  sure  to  bind. 


208  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Fill  high  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine! 

Our  virgins  dance  beneath  the  shade ; 
I  see  their  glorious,  black  eyes  shine ; 

But  gazing  on  each  glowing  maid, 
My  own  the  burning  tear-drop  laves. 
To  think  such  breasts  must  suckle  slaves. 

Place  me  on  Sunium's  marbled  steep, 
AVliere  nothing  save  the  waves  and  I 

May  hear  our  mutual  murmurs  sweep; 
There,  swan-like,  let  me  sing  and  die : 

A  land  of  slaves  shall  ne'er  be  mine, — 

Dash  down  yon  cup  of  Samian  wine! 


Notes. — Sappho  was  a  Greek  poetess  living  on  the  island 
of  Lesbos,  about  600  B.  C.  Delos  is  one  of  the  Grecian  Ar- 
chipelago, and  is  of  volcanic  origin.  The  ancient  Greeks  be- 
lieved that  it  rose  from  the  sea  at  a  stroke  from  Neptune's 
trident,  and  was  moored  fast  to  the  bottom  by  Jupiter.  It  was 
the  supposed  birth-i^lace  of  Phoebus,  or  Apollo.  The  island 
of  Chios,  or  Scios,  is  one  of  the  places  Avhich  claim  to  be  the 
birth-place  of  Homer.  Teios,  or  Teos,  a  city  in  Ionia,  is  the 
birth-place  of  the  Greek  poet  Anacreon.  The  Islands  of  the 
Blest,  mentioned  in  ancient  poetry,  were  imaginary  islands  in 
the  west,  where,  it  was  believed,  the  favorites  of  the  gods  were 
conveyed  without  dying. 

At  Marathon  (490  B.  C),  on  the  east  coast  of  Greece,  11,000 
Greeks,  under  the  generalship  of  Miltiades,  routed  110,000  Per- 
sians. The  island  of  Salamis  lies  very  near  the  Greek  coast: 
in  the  narrow  channel  between,  the  Greek  fleet  almost  de- 
stroyed (480  B.  C.)  that  of  Xerxes,  the  Persian  king,  who  wit- 
nessed the  contest  from  a  throne  on  the  mountain  side.  Ther- 
mopylae is  a  narrow  mountain  pass  in  Greece,  where  Leonidas, 
with  300  Spartans  and  about  1,100  other  Greeks,  held  the  en- 
tire Persian  army  in  check  until  every  Spartan,  except  one, 
was  slain.  Samos  is  one  of  the  Grecian  Archipelago,  noted 
for  its  cultivation  of  the  vine  and  olive. 


SIXTH  READER.  209 

A  Bacchanal  was  a  disciple  of  Bacchus,  the  god  of  wine. 
Pyrrhus  was  a  Greek,  and  one  of  the  greatest  generals  of  the 
world.  The  phalanx  was  an  almost  invincible  arrangement 
of  troops,  massed  in  close  array,  with  their  shields  overlapping 
one  another,  and  their  spears  projecting;  this  form  of  military 
tactics  was  peculiar  to  the  Greeks. 

Polycrates  seized  the  island  of  Samos,  and  made  himself 
tyrant :  he  was  entrajDped  and  crucified  in  522  B.  C.  Cher- 
sonese is  the  ancient  name  for  a  peninsula.  Sunium  is  the 
name  of  a  promontory  south-east  of  Athens. 


LII.    NORTH  AMERICAN    INDIANS. 


Charles  Sprague,  1791-1875,  was  born  in  Boston,  and  received  his  edu- 
cation in  the  public  schools  of  that  city.  For  sixteen  years  he  was  en- 
gaged in  mercantile  pursuits,  as  clerk  and  partner.  In  1820  he  became 
teller  in  a  bank ;  and,  from  1825,  he  tilled  the  office  of  cashier  of  the  Globe 
Bank  for  about  forty  years.  In  1829  he  gave  his  most  fiimous  poem,  "  Curi- 
osity," before  tlie  Phi  Beta  Kappa  society,  in  C'ambridge.  An  active  man 
of  business  all  his  days,  he  has  written  but  little  either  in  prose  or  poetry, 
but  that  little  is  excellent  in  quality,  graceful,  and  pleasing. 

The  address  from  which  this  extnict  is  taken,  was  delivered  before  the 
citizens  of  Boston,  July  4th,  1825. 


Not  many  generations  ago,  where  you  now  sit,  encircled 
with  all  that  exalts  and  embellishes  civilized  life,  the  rank 
thistle  nodded  in  the  wind  and  the  wild  fox  dug  his  hole 
unscared.  Here  lived  and  loved  another  race  of  beings. 
Beneath  the  same  sun  that  rolls  over  your  head,  the  Indian 
hunter  pursued  the  panting  deer ;  gazing  on  the  same  moon 
that  smiles  for  you,  the  Indian  lover  wooed  his  dusky  mate. 
Here  the  wigwam  blaze  beamed  on  the  tender  and  helpless, 
and  the  council-fire  glared  on  the  wise  and  daring.  Now 
they  dipped  their  noble  limbs  in  your  sedgy  lakes,  and  now 
they  paddled  the  light  canoe  along  your  rocky  shores. 
Hete  they  warred  ;  the  echoing  whoop,  the  bloody  grapple, 
the  defying  death-song,  all  were  here ;  and  when  the  tiger- 
strife  was  over,  here  curled  the  smoke  of  peace. 

6.— 18. 


210  ^         ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Here,  too,  they  worshiped ;  and  from  many  a  dark  hosom 
went  up  a  fervent  prayer  to  the  Great  Spirit.  He  had  not 
written  his  laws  for  them  on  tables  of  stone,  but  he  had 
traced  them  on  the  tables  of  their  hearts.  The  poor  child 
of  nature  knew  not  the  God  of  Revelation,  but  the  God  of 
the  universe  he  acknowledged  in  every  thing  around.  He 
beheld  him  in  the  star  that  sank  in  beauty  behind  his 
lonely  dwelling;  in  the  sacred  orb  that  flamed  on  him  from 
his  midday  throne;  in  the  flower  that  snapped  in  the  morn^ 
ing  breeze ;  in  the  lofty  pine  that  defied  a  thousand  whirl- 
winds ;  in  the  timid  warbler  that  never  left  its  native 
grove;  in  the  fearless  eagle,  whose  untired  pinion  was  wet 
in  clouds;  in  the  worm  that  crawled  at  his  feet;  and  in  his 
own  matchless  form,  glowing  with  a  spark  of  that  light,  to 
whose  mysterious  source  he  bent  in  humble  though  blind 
adoration. 

And  all  this  has  passed  away.  Across  the  ocean  came  a 
pilgrim  bark,  bearing  the  seeds  of  life  and  death.  The 
former  were  sown  for  you;  the  latter  sprang  up  in  the  path 
of  the  simple  native.  Two  hundred  years  have  changed 
the  character  of  a  great  continent,  and  blotted  forever  from 
its  face  a  whole,  peculiar  people.  Art  has  usurped  the 
bowers  of  nature,  and  the  anointed  children  of  education 
have  been  too  powerful  for  the  tribes  of  the  ignorant. 
Here  and  there  a  stricken  few  remain ;  but  how  unlike 
their  bold,  untamable  progenitors.  The  Indian  of  falcon 
glance  and  lion  bearing,  the  theme  of  the  touching  ballad, 
the  hero  of  the  pathetic  tale  is  gone,  and  his  degraded  off*- 
spring  crawls  upon  the  soil  where  he  walked  in  majesty,  to 
remind  us  how  miserable  is  man  when  the  foot  of  the  con- 
queror is  on  his  neck. 

As  a  race  they  have  withered  from  the  land.  Their 
arrows  are  broken,  their  springs  are  dried  up,  their  cabins 
are  in  the  dust.  Their  council-fire  has  long  since  gone  out 
on  the  shore,  and  their  war-cry  is  fast  fading  to  the  un- 
trodden  west.      Slowly   and   sadly   they   climb   the   distant 


SIXTH  HEADER.  211 

mountains,  and  read  their  doom  in  the  setting  sun.  They 
are  shrinking  before  the  mighty  tide  which  is  pressing  them 
away;  they  must  soon  hear  the  roar  of  the  last  wave  which 
will  settle  over  them  forever.  Ages  hence,  the  inquisitive 
white  man,  as  he  stands  by  some  growing  city,  will  ponder 
on  the  structure  of  their  disturbed  remains,  and  wonder  to 
what  manner  of  persons  they  belonged.  They  will  live 
only  in  the  songs  and  chronicles  of  their  exterminators. 
Let  these  be  faithful  to  their  rude  virtues  as  men,  and  pay 
due  tribute  to  their  unhappy  fate  as  a  people. 


LIII.    LOCHIEL'S  WARNING. 


Thomas  Campbell,  1777-1844,  was  a  descendant  of  the  famous  clan  of 
Campbells,  in  Kirnan,  Scotland,  and  was  born  at  Glasgow.  At  the  age  of 
thirteen  he  entered  the  university  in  that  city,  from  which  he  graduated 
with  distinction,  especially  as  a  Greek  scholar;  his  translations  of  Greek 
tragedy  were  considered  without  parallel  in  the  history  of  the  univei'sity. 
During  the  first  year  after  graduation,  he  wrote  several  poems  of  minor 
importance.  He  then  removed  to  Edinburgh  and  adopted  literature  as 
his  profession ;  here  his  "  Pleasures  of  Hope  "  was  published  in  1799,  and 
achieved  immediate  success.  He  traveled  extensively  on  the  continent, 
and  during  his  absence  wrote  "  Lochiel's  Warning,"  "  Hohenllnden," 
and  other  minor  poems.  In  1809  he  published  "  Gertrude  of  "Wyoming ; " 
from  1820  to  18:50  he  edited  the  "  New  Monthly  Magazine."  In  1826  he  was 
chosen  lord  rector  of  the  University  of  Glasgow,  to  which  office  he  was 
twice  re-elected.  He  was  active  in  founding  the  University  of  London. 
During  the  last  years  of  his  life  he  produced  but  little  of  note.  He  died 
at  Boulogne,  in  France.  During  most  of  his  life  he  was  in  straitened 
pecuniary  circumstances,  and  ill-health  and  family  afHictions  cast  a 
melancholy  over  his  later  years.  His  poems  were  written  with  much 
care,  and  are  uniformly  smooth  and  musical. 


/Seer.  Lochiel!  Lochiel!  beware  of  the  day 

When  the  Lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle  array! 
For  a  field  of  the  dead  rushes  red  on  my  sight, 
And  the  clans  of  Culloden  are  scattered  in  fight. 
They  rally,  they  bleed,  for  their  kingdom  and  crown; 
Woe,  woe  to  the  riders  that  trample  them  down! 


212  ECLECTIC  SEEIES. 

Proud  Cumberland  prances,  insulting  the  slain, 
And   their  hoof-beaten  bosoms  are  trod  to  the  plain. 
But  hark !  through  the  fast-flashing  lightning  of  war, 
What  steed  to  the  desert  flies  frantic  and  far? 
'Tis  thine,  O  Glenullin!  whose  bride  shall  await 
Like  a  love-lighted  watch-fire  all  night  at  the  gate. 
A  steed  comes  at  morning, — no  rider  is  there, — 
But  its  bridle  is  red  with  the  sign  of  despair. 
Weep,  Albin !  to  death  and  captivity  led ! 
Oh,  weeji!  but  thy  tears  can  not  number  the  dead: 
For  a  merciless  sword  on  Culloden  shall  wave, — 
Culloden!  that  reeks  with  the  blood  of  the  brave. 

Loch.  Go  preach  to  the  coward,  thou  death-telling  seer! 
Or,  if  gory  Culloden  so  dreadful  appear. 
Draw,  dotard,  around  thy  old  wavering  sight, 
This  mantle,  tt)  cover  the  phantoms  of  fright. 

Seer.    Ha!   laugh'st  thou,  Lochiel,  my  vision  to  scorn? 

Proud  bird  of  the  mountain  thy  plume  shall  be  torn! 

Say,  rushed  the  bold  eagle  exultingly  forth 

From  his  home  in  the  dark-rolling  clouds  of  the  north? 

Lo!  the  death-shot  of  foemen  out-speeding,  he  rode 

Companionless,  bearing  destruction  abroad ; 

But  down  let  him  stoop  from  his  havoc  on  high ! 

Ah !  home  let  him  speed,  for  the  spoiler  is  nigh. 

Why  flames  the  far  summit?    Why  shoot  to  the  blast 

Those  embers,  like  stars  from  the  firmament  cast? 

'Tis  the  fire-shower  of  ruin,  all  dreadfully  driven 

From  his  eyrie  that  beacons  the  darkness  of  heaven. 

0  crested  Lochiel !  the  peerless  in  might. 

Whose  banners  arise  on  the  battlements'  height. 

Heaven's  fire  is  around  tliee,  to  blast  and  to  burn ; 

Return  to  thy  dwelling !  all  lonely  return ! 

For  the  blackness  of  ashes  shall  mark  where  it  stood. 

And  a  wild  mother  scream  o'er  her  famishing  brood. 


SIXTH  READER.  213 

Jjoch.  False  wizard,  avaunt!  I  have  marshaled  my  clan, 

Their  swords  are  a  thousand,  their  bosoms  are  one ! 
They  are  true  to  the  last  of   their  blood  and  their 

breath, 
And  like  reapers  descend  to  the  harvest  of  death. 
Then  welcome  be  Cumberland's  steed  to  the  shock ! 
Let  him  dash  his  proud  foam  like  a  Avave  on  the  rock ! 
But  woe  to  his  kindred,  and  woe  to  his  cause. 
When  Albin  her  claymore  indignantly  draws ; 
When  her  bonneted  chieftains  to  victory  crowd, 
Clanronald  the  dauntless,  and  Moray  the  proud. 
All  plaided  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array  — 

8eer.    Lochiel,  Lochiel,  beware  of  the  day! 

For,  dark  and  despairing,  my  sight  I  may  seal. 
But  man  can  not  cover  what  God  would  reveal : 
'Tis  the  sunset  of  life  gives  me  mystical  lore. 
And  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before. 
I  tell  thee,  Culloden's  dread  echoes  shall  ring 
With   the  blood-hounds   that   bark    for    thy    fugitive 

king. 
Lo!  anointed  by  heaven  with  the  vials  of  wrath, 
Behold  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path ! 
Now,  in   darkness  and    billows,  he  sweeps   from    my 

sight : 
Rise,  rise !  ye  wild  tempests,  and  cover  his  flight ! 
'T  is  finished.    Their  thunders  are  hushed  on  the  moors ; 
Culloden  is  lost,  and  my  country  deplores. 
But  where  is  the  iron-bound  prisoner  ?     Where  ? 
For  the  red  eye  of  battle  is  shut  in  despair. 
Say,  mounts  he  the  ocean  wave,  banished,  forlorn, 
Like  a  limb  from  his  country,  cast  bleeding  and  torn? 
Ah  no !  for  a  darker  departure  is  near ; 
The  war-drum  is  nmftled,  and  black  is  the  bier; 
His  death-bell  is  tolling;  O  mercy,  dispel 
Yon  sight  that  it  freezes  my  spirit  to  tell ! 


214  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Life  flutters  convulsed  in  his  quivering  limbs, 
And  his  blood-streaming  nostril  in  agony  swims. 
Accursed  be  the  fagots  that  blaze  at  his  feet, 
Where  his  heart  shall  be  thrown  ere  it  ceases  to  beat, 
With  the  smoke  of  its  ashes  to  poison  the  gale  — 

Loch.  Down,  soothless  insulter!  I  trust  not  the  tale: 
For  never  shall  Albin  a  destiny  meet 
So  black  with  dishonor,  so  foul  with  retreat. 
Though    my    perishing   ranks   should   be   strewed    in 

their  gore, 
Like  ocean  weeds  heaped   on   the   surf-beaten   shore, 
Lochiel,  untainted  by  flight  or  by  chains. 
While  the  kindling  of  life  in  his  bosom  remains, 
Shall  victor  exult,  or  in  death  be  laid  low, 
With  his  back  to  the  field  and   his  feet  to  the  foe! 
And  leaving  in  battle  no  blot  on  his  name, 
Look  proudly  to  heaven  from  the  death-bed  of  fame. 

Notes. — Lochiel  was  a  brave  and  influential  Highland  chief- 
tain. He  espoused  the  cause  of  Charles  Stuart,  called  the  Pre- 
tender, who  claimed  the  British  throne.  In  the  preceding 
piece,  he  is  supposed  to  be  marching  with  the  warriors  of  his 
clan  to  join  Charles's  army.  On  his  way  he  is  met  by  a  Seer, 
who  having,  according  to  the  popular  superstition,  the  gift  of 
second-sight,  or  jjrophecy,  forewarns  him  of  the  disastrous 
event  of  the  enterprise,  and  exliorts  him  to  return  home  and 
avoid  the  destruction  which  certainly  awaits  him,  and  which 
afterward  fell  upon  him  at  the  battle  of  Oulloden,  in  1746. 
Fn  tliis  battle  the  Highlanders  were  commanded  by  Chai-les  in 
person,  and  the  English  by  the  Duke  of  Cumberland.  The 
Highlanders  were  completely  routed,  and  the  Pretender's  re- 
bellion brought  to  a  close.  He  himself  shortly  afterward  made 
a  narrow  escape  by  water  from  the  west  of  Scotland;  hence 
the  reference  to  the  fugitive  king. 

Albin  is  the  poetic  name  of  Scotland,  more  particularly  the 
Highlands.     The  iron-bound  prisoner  refers  to  Lochiel. 


SIXTH  READER.  215 


LIV.     ON    HAPPINESS    OF    TEMPER. 

Oliver  Goldsmith,  172S-1774.  This  eccentric  son  of  genius  was  an 
Irishman ;  his  father  was  a  poor  curate.  Goldsmith  received  his  educa- 
tion at  several  preparatory  schools,  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  at  Edin- 
burgh, and  at  Leyden.  He  was  indolent  and  unruly  as  a  student,  often  in 
disgrace  with  his  teachers;  but  his  generosity,  recklessness,  and  love  of 
athletic  sports  made  him  a  favorite  with  his  fellow-students.  He  spent 
some  time  in  wandering  over  the  continent,  often  in  poverty  and  Avant. 
In  IT.'Se  he  returned  to  Engkiud,  and  soon  took  up  his  abode  in  London. 
Here  he  made  the  acquaintance  and  friendship  of  several  notable  men, 
among  whom  were  Johnson  and  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  "  The  Trav- 
eler" was  published  in  1764,  and  was  soon  followed  by  the  "Vicar  of 
Wakefield."  He  wrote  in  nearly  all  departments  of  literature,  and 
always  with  puritj',  grace,  and  fluency.  His  fame  as  a  poet  is  secured  by 
the  "  Traveler  "  and  the  "  Deserted  Village ; "  as  a  dramatist,  by  "  She 
Stoops  to  Conquer;  "  as  a  satirist,  by  the  "  Citizen  of  the  World ;  "  and  as 
a  novelist  by  the  "  Vicar  of  Wakefield."  In  his  later  years  his  writings 
were  the  source  of  a  large  income,  but  his  gambling,  careless  generosity, 
and  reckless  extravagance  always  kept  him  in  financial  difllculty,  and 
he  died  heavily  in  debt.     His  monument  is  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

Writers  of  every  age  have  endeavored  to  show  that 
pleasure  is  in  us,  and  not  in  the  objects  offered  for  our 
amusement.  If  the  soul  be  happily  disposed,  every  thing 
becomes  capable  of  affording  entertainment,  and  distress  will 
almost  want  a  name.  Every  occurrence  passes  in  review, 
like  the  figures  of  a  procession ;  some  may  be  awkward, 
others  ill-dressed,  but  none  but  a  fool  is  on  that  account 
enl^aged  with  the  master  of  ceremonies. 

I  remember  to  have  once  seen  a  slave,  in  a  fortification 
in  Flanders,  who  appeared  no  way  touched  with  his  situa- 
tion. He  was  maimed,  deformed,  and  chained ;  obliged  to 
toil  from  the  appearance  of  day  till  night-fall,  and  con- 
deinned  to  this  for  life;  yet, with  all  these  circumstances  of 
apparent  wretchedness,  he  sang,  would  have  danced,  but 
that  he  wanted  a  leg,  and  appeared  the  merriest,  happiest 
man  of  all  the  garrison.  What  a  practical  philosopher  was 
here!  A  happy  constitution  suppUed  philosophy,  and 
though  seemingly  destitute  of  wisdom  he  was  really  wise, 
No   reading   or   study   had   contributed    to   disenchant    the 


216  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

fairy-land  around  him.  Every  thing  furnished  him  with  an 
opportunity  of  mirth;  and  though  some  thought  him,  from 
his  insensibility,  a  fool,  he  was  such  an  idiot  as  philosophers 
should  wish  to  imitate. 

They  who,  like  that  slave,  can  place  themselves  on  that 
side  of  the  world  in  which  every  thing  appears  in  a  pleas- 
ant light,  will  find  something  in  every  occurrence  to  excite 
their  good  humor.  The  most  calamitous  events,  either  to 
themselves  or  others,  can  bring  no  new  afliiction;  the  world 
is  to  them  a  theater,  in  which  only  comedies  are  acted. 
All  the  bustle  of  heroism,  or  the  aspirations  of  ambition, 
seem  only  "to  heighten  the  absurdity  of  the  scene,  and  make 
the  humor  more  poignant.  They  feel,  in  short,  as  little 
anguish  at  their  own  distress,  or  the  complaints  of  others, 
as  the  undertaker,  though  dressed  in  black,  feels  sorrow  at 
a  funeral. 

Of  all  the  men  I  ever  read  of,  the  famous  Cardinal  de 
Retz  possessed  this  happiness  in  the  highest  degree.  When 
fortune  wore  her  angriest  look,  and  he  fell  into  the  poAver 
of  Cardinal  Mazai'in,  his  most  deadly  enemy,  (being  con- 
fined a  close  prisoner  in  the  castle  of  Valenciennes,)  he 
nevei-  attempted  to  support  his  distress  by  wisdom  or  phi- 
losopliy,  for  he  pretended  to  neitlier.  He  only  laughed  at 
himself  and  his  persecutor,  and  seemed  infinitely  pleased  at 
his  new  situation.  In  this  mansion  of  distress,  though 
denied  all  amusements,  and  even  the  conveniences  of  life, 
and  entirely  cut  off  from  all  intercourse  with  his  friends, 
he  still  retained  his  good  humor,  laughed  at  the  little  spite 
of  his  enemies,  and  carried  the  jest  so  far  as  to  write  the 
life  of  his  jailer. 

All  that  the  wisdom  of  the  proud  can  teach,  is  to  be 
stubborn  or  sullen  under  misfortunes.  The  Cardinal's  ex- 
amjile  will  teach  us  to  be  good-humored  in  circumstances 
of  the  highest  affliction.  It  matters  not  whether  our  good 
humor  be  construed  by  others  into  insensibility  or  idiot- 
ism, —  it   js   happiness  to   ourselves;    and   none   but  a   fool 


SIXTH  HEADER.  217 

could  measure  his  satisfaction  by  what  the  Avorld  thinks 
of  it. 

The  happiest  fellow  I  ever  knew,  was  of  the  number  of 
those  good-natured  creatures  that  are  said  to  do  no  harm 
to  anybody  but  themselves.  Whenever  he  fell  into  any 
misery,  he  called  it  "seeing  life."  If  his  head  was  broken 
by  a  chairman,  or  his  pocket  picked  by  a  sharper,  he  com- 
forted himself  by  imitating  the  Hibernian  dialect  of  the 
one,  or  the  more  fashionable  cant  of  the  other.  Nothing 
came  amiss  to  him.  His  inattention  to  money  matters  had 
concerned  his  father  to  such  a  degree  that  all  intercession 
of  friends  was  fruitless.  The  old  gentleman  w^as  on  his 
death-bed.  The  whole  family  (and  Dick  among  the  num- 
ber) gathered  around  him. 

"I  leave  my  second  son,  Andrew,"  said  the  expiring 
miser,  "my  whole  estate,  and  desire  him  to  be  frugal." 
Andrew,  in  a  sorrowful  tone  (as  is  usual  on  such  occa- 
sions), prayed  heaven  to  prolong  his  life  and  health  to  enjoy 
it  himself.  "  I  recommend  Simon,  my  third  son,  to  the 
care  of  his  elder  brother,  and  leave  him,  besides,  four 
thousand  pounds."  "Ah,  father!"  cried  Simon  (in  great 
affliction,  to  be  sure),  "may  heaven  give  you  life  and 
health  to  enjoy  it  yourself! "  At  last,  turning  to  poor 
Dick:  "As  for  you,  you  have  always  been  a  sad  dog; 
you  '11  never  come  to  good ;  you  '11  never  be  rich ;  I  leave 
you  a  shilling  to  buy  a  halter."  "Ah,  father!"  cries 
Dick,  without  any  emotion,  "may  heaven  give  you  life 
and  health  to  enjoy  it  yourself! " 

Notes. — Cardinal  de  Retz,  Jean  Francois  Paul  de  Gondi 
(b.  1614,  d.  1679),  was  leader  of  the  revolt  against  Jules 
Mazarin  (b.  1602,  d.  1661),  the  prime  minister  of  France  dur- 
ing the  minority  of  Louis  XIV.  This  led  to  a  war  which 
lasted  four  or  five  years.  After  peace  had  been  concluded, 
and  Louis  XIV.  established  on  the  throne,  Mazarin  was  rein- 
stated in  power,  and  Cardinal  de  Retz  was  imprisoned. 

Flanders,    formerly    part   of  the   Netherlands,   is    now    in- 
cluded in  Belgium,  Holland  and  France.  , 
6.— 19. 


218  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


LV.    THE    FORTUNE-TELLER. 

Henry  Mackenzie,  1V45-1S31,  was  born  in  Edinburgh,  educatprl  at  the 
university  tliere,  and  died  in  the  same  city.  He  was  an  attorney  by  pro- 
fession, and  was  the  associate  of  many  famous  literary  men  residing  at 
that  time  in  Edinburgh.  His  fame  as  a  writer  rests  cliietly  on  two 
novels,  "  The  Man  of  Feeling  "  and  "  The  Man  of  the  World  ; "  both  were 
published  before  the  author  was  forty  years  old. 

Harley  sat-  down  on  a  large  stone  by  the  wayside,  to 
take  a  pebble  from  his  shoe,  when  he  saw,  at  some  dis- 
tance, a  beggar  approaching  him.  He  Imd  on  a  loose  sort 
of  coat,  mended  with  diiFerent  colored  rags,  among  which 
the  blue  and  russet  were  predominant.  He  had  a  short, 
knotty  stick  in  his  hand,  and  on  the  top  of  it  was  stuck  a 
ram's  horn ;  he  wore  no  shoes,  and  his  stockings  had  en- 
tirely lost  that  part  of  them  which  would  have  covered  his 
feet  and  ankles;  in  his  face,  however,  was  the  plump  ap- 
pearance of  good  humor ;  he  walked  a  good,  round  pace, 
and  a  crook-legged  dog  trotted  at  his  heels. 

"Our  delicacies,"  said  Harley  to  himself,  "are  fantastic; 
they  are  not  in  nature!  That  beggar  walks  over  the 
sharpest  of  these  stones  barefooted,  whilst  I  have  lost  the 
most  delightfid  dream  in  the  world  from  the  smallest  of 
them  happening  to  get  into  my  shoe."  The  beggar  had  by 
this  time  come  up,  and,  pulling  off  a  piece  of  a  hat,  asked 
charity  of  Harley.  The  dog  began  to  beg,  too.  It  was 
impossible  to  resist  both;  and,  in  truth,  the  want  of  shoes 
and  stockings  had  made  both  unnecessary,  for  Harley  had 
destined  sixpence  for  him  before. 

The  beggar,  on  receiving  it,  poured  forth  blessings  with- 
out number ;  and,  with  a  sort  of  smile  on  his  countenance, 
said  to  Harley  that  if  he  wanted  to  have  his  fortune 
told  —  Harley  turned  his  eye  briskly  upon  the  beggar ;  it 
was  an  unpromising  look  for  the  subject  of  a  prediction, 
and  silenced  the  prophet  immediately.  "I  would  much 
rather   learn,"  said    Harley,  "  what  it  is  in  your  power  to 


SIXTH  READER.  219 

tell  me.  Your  trade  must  be  an  entertaining  one;  sit 
down  on  this  stone,  and  let  me  know  something  of  your 
profession;  I  have  often  thought  of  turning  fortune-teller 
for  a  week  or  two,  myself." 

"Master,"  replied  the  beggar,  "I  like  your  frankness 
much,  for  I  had  the  humor  of  plain  dealing  in  me  from  a 
child ;  but  there  is  no  doing  with  it  in  this  world, —  we 
must  do  as  we  can;  and  lying  is,  as  you  call  it,  my  pro- 
fession. But  I  was  in  some  sort  forced  to  the  trade,  for  I 
once  dealt  in  telling  the  truth.  I  was  a  laborer,  sir,  and 
gained  as  much  as  to  make  me  live.  I  never  laid  by,  in- 
deed, for  I  was  reckoned  a  piece  of  a  wag,  and  your  wags, 
I  take  it,  are  seldom  rich,  Mr.  Harley."  "So,"  said  Har- 
ley,  "you  seem  to  know  me."  "Ay,  there  are  fcAv  folks 
in  the  country  that  I  don't  know  something  of.  How 
should  I  tell  fortunes  else?"  "True, —  but  go  on  with  your 
story;  you  were  a  laborer,  you  say,  and  a  wag;  your  in- 
dustry, I  suppose,  you  left  with  your  old  trade;  but  your 
humor  you  preserved  to  be  of  use  to  you  in  your  new." 

"What  signifies  sadness,  sir?  A  man  grows  lean  on't. 
But  I  Avas  brought  to  my  idleness  by  degrees;  sickness 
first  disabled  me,  and  it  went  against  my  stomach  to  work, 
ever  after.  But,  in  truth,  I  was  for  a  long  time  so  weak 
that  I  spit  blood  whenever  I  attempted  to  work.  I  had  no 
relation  living,  and  I  never  kept  a  friend  above  a  week 
when  I  was  able  to  joke.  Thus  I  was  forced  to  beg  my 
bread,  and  a  sorry  trade  I  have  found  it,  Mr.  Harley.  I 
told  all  my  misfortunes  truly,  but  they  were  seldom  be- 
lieved; and  the  few  who  gave  me  a  half-penny  as  they 
passed,  did  it  with  a  shake  of  the  head,  and  an  injunction 
not  to  trouble  them  with  a  long  story.  In  short,  I  found 
that  people  don't  care  to  give  alms  without  some  security 
for  their  money,— such  as  a  wooden  leg,  or  a  w^ithered 
arm,  for  example.  So  I  changed  my  plan,  and  instead  of 
telling  my  own  misfortunes,  began  to  prophesy  happiness 
to  others. 


220  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

"This  I  found  by  much  the  better  way.  Folks  will 
always  listen  when  the  tale  is  their  own,  and  of  many  who 
say  they  do  not  believe  in  fortune-telling,  I  have  known 
few  on  whom  it  had  not  a  very  sensible  effect.  I  pick  up 
the  names  of  their  acquaintance ;  amours  and  little  squab- 
bles are  easily  gleaned  from  among  servants  and  neigh- 
bors; and,  indeed,  people  themselves  are  the  best  intelli- 
gencers in  the  world  for  our  purpose.  They  dare  not 
puzzle  us  for  their  own  sakes,  for  every  one  is  anxious  to 
hear  what  they  wish  to  believe ;  and  they  who  repeat  it, 
to  laugh  at  it  when  they  have  done,  are  generally  more 
serious  than  their  hearers  are  apt  to  imagine.  With  a  tol- 
erably good  memory,  and  some  share  of  cunning,  I  succeed 
reasonably  well  as  a  fortune-teller.  With  this,  and  show- 
ing the  tricks  of  that  dog,  I  make  shift  to  pick  up  a  live- 
lihood. 

"My  trade  is  none  of  the  most  honest,  yet  people  are 
not  much  cheated  after  all,  who  give  a  few  half-pence  for 
a  jirospect  of  hajipiness,  which  I  have  heard  some  persons 
say,  is  all  a  man  can  arrive  at  in  this  world.  But  I  must 
bid  you  good-day,  sir ;  for  I  have  three  miles  to  walk  be- 
fore noon,  to  inform  some  boarding-school  young  ladies 
whether  their  husbands  are  to  be  peers  of  the  realm  or 
captains  in  the  army ;  a  question  which  I  promised  to 
answer  them  by  that  time." 

Harley  had  drawn  a  shilling  from  his  pocket;  but 
Virtue  bade  him  to  consider  on  whom  he  was  going  to 
bestow  it.  Virtue  held  back  his  arm ;  but  a  milder  form, 
a  younger  sister  of  Virtue's,  not  so  severe  as  Virtue,  nor  so 
serious  as  Pity,  smiled  upon  him ;  his  fingers  lost  their  com- 
pression; nor  did  Virtue  appear  to  catch  the  money  as  it 
fell.  It  had  no  sooner  reached  the  ground  than  the  watch- 
ful cur  (a  trick  he  had  been  taught)  snapped  it  up;  and, 
contrary  to  the  most  approved  method  of  stewardship,  de- 
livered it  immediately  into  the  hands  of  his  master. 


SIXTH  READER.  221 


LVI.    RIENZI'S    ADDRESS    TO   THE   ROMANS. 

Mary  Russell  Mitford,  178&-1855.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  phy- 
sician, and  was  born  in  Hampshire,  England.  At  twenty  years  of  age, 
she  published  tliree  volumes  of  poems;  and  soon  after  entered  upon  lit- 
erature as  a  life-long  occupation.  She  wrote  tales,  sketches,  poems,  and 
dramas.  "  Our  Village  "  is  the  best  known  of  her  prose  works ;  the  book 
describes  the  daily  life  of  a  rural  people,  is  simple  but  finished  in  stjie, 
and  is  marked  by  mingled  humor  and  pathos.  Her  most  noted  drama  is 
"  Kienzi."  Miss  Mitford  passed  the  last  forty  years  of  her  life  in  a  little 
cottage  in  Berkshire,  among  a  simple,  country  people,  to  whom  she  was 
greatly  endeared  by  her  kindness  and  social  virtues. 

I  COME  not  here  to  talk.     You  know  too  well 
The  story  of  our  thralldom.     We  are  slaves! 
The  bright  sun  rises  to  his  course,  and  lights 
A  race  of  slaves!     He  sets,  and  his  last  beams 
Fall  on  a  slave;  not  such  as,  swept  along 
By  the  full  tide  of  power,  the  conqueror  led 
To  crimson  glory  and  undying  fame; 
But  base,  ignoble  slaves;  slaves  to  a  horde 
Of  petty  tyrants,  feudal  despots,  lords. 
Rich  in  some  dozen  paltry  villages; 
Strong  in  some  hundred  spearmen ;  only  great 
In  that  strange  spell, —  a  name. 

Each  hour,  dark  fraud, 
Or  open  rapine,  or  protected  murder, 
Cries  out  against  them.     But  this  very  day. 
An  honest  man,  my  neighbor, —  there  he  stands, — 
Was  struck  —  struck  like  a  dog,  by  one  who  wore 
The  badge  of  Ursini ;  because,  forsooth. 
He  tossed  not  high  his  ready  cap  in  air, 
Nor  lifted  up  his  voice  in  servile  shouts, 
At  sight  of  that  great  ruffian!     Be  we  men. 
And  suffer  such  dishonor?  men,  and  wash  not 
The  stain  away  in  blood?.    Such  shames  are  common. 
I  have  known  deeper  wrongs;  I  that  speak  to  ye. 


222  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

I  had  a  brother  once  —  a  gracious  boy, 
Full  of  all  gentleness,  of  calmest  hope, 
Of  sweet  and  quiet  joy, —  there  was  the  look 
Of  heaven  upon  his  face,  which  liainers  give 
To  the  beloved  disciple. 

How  I  loved 
That  gracious  boy!     Younger  by  fifteen  years. 
Brother  at  once,  and  son !     He  left  my  side, 
A  summer  bloom  on  his  fair  cheek;  a  smile 
Parting  his  innocent  lips.     In  one  short  hour, 
That  pretty,  harmless  boy  was  slain!     I  saw 
The  corse,  the  mangled  corse,  and  then  I  cried 
For  vengeance!     Rouse,  ye  Romans!  rouse,  ye  slaves! 
Have  ye  brave  sons?     Look  in  the  next  fierce  brawl 
To  see  them  die.     Have  ye  fair  daughters?     Look 
To  see  them  live,  torn  from  your  arms,  distained, 
Dishonored;  and  if  ye  dare  call  for  justice, 
Be  answered  by  the  lash. 

Yet  this  is  Rome, 
That  sat  on  her  seven  hills,  and  from  her  throne 
Of  beauty  ruled  the  world !  and  we  are  Romans. 
Why,  in  that  elder  day,  to  be  a  Roman 
Was  greater  than  a  king! 

And  once  again, — 
Hear  me,  ye  walls  that  echoed  to  the  tread 
Of  either  Brutus!     Once  again,  I  swear. 
The  eternal  city  shall  be  free. 


Notes— Rienzi  (b.  about  1312,  d.  1354)  was  the  last  of  the 
Roman  tribunes.  In  1347  he  led  a  successful  revolt  against 
the  nobles,  who  by  their  contentions  kept  Korae  in  constant 
turmoil.  He  then  assumed  the  title  of  tribune,  but,  after  in- 
dulging in  a  life  of  reckless  extravagance  and  pomj)  for  a  few 


SIXTH  READER.  223 

months,  he  was  compelled  to  abdicate,  and  flj^  for  his  life.  In 
1354  he  was  reinstated  in  power,  but  his  tj'ranny  caused  his 
assassination  the  same  year. 

The  Ursini  were  one  of  the  noble  families  of  Rome. 

This  lesson  is  especially  adapted  for  drill  on  inflection,  em- 
phasis, and  modulation. 


LVII.  CHARACTER  OF  THE  PURITAN  FATHERS  OF  NEW 
ENGLAND. 

One  of  the  most  prominent  features  which  distinguished 
our  forefathers,  was  their  determined  resistance  to  oppres- 
sion. They  seemed  born  and  brought  up  for  the  high  and 
special  purpose  of  showing  to  the  world  that  the  civil  and 
religious  rights  of  man  —  the  rights  of  self-government,  of 
conscience,  and  independent  thought  —  are  not  merely  things 
to  be  talked  of  and  woven  into  theories,  but  to  be  adopted 
with  the  whole  strength  and  ardor  of  the  mind,  and  felt  in 
the  profoundest  recesses  of  the  heart,  and  carried  out  into 
the  general  life,  and  made  the  foundation  of  practical  use- 
fulness, and  visible  beauty,  and  true  nobility. 

Liberty,  with  tliem,  was  an  object  of  too  serious  desire 
and  stern  resolve  to  be  personified,  allegorized,  and  en- 
shrined. They  made  no  goddess  of  it,  as  the  ancients  did; 
they  had  no  time  nor  inclination  for  such  trifling;  they 
felt  that  liberty  was  the  simple  birthright  of  every  human 
creature ;  they  called  it  so ;  they  claimed  it  as  such ;  they 
reverenced  and  held  it  fast  as  the  unalienable  gift  of  the 
Creator,  which  was  not  to  be  surrendered  to  power,  nor 
sold  for  wages. 

It  was  theirs,  as  men ;  without  it,  they  did  not  esteem 
themselves  men ;  more  than  any  other  privilege  or  posses- 
sion, it  was  essential  to  their  happiness,  for  it  was  essential 
to  their  original  nature ;  and  therefore  they  preferred  it 
above  wealth,  and  ease,  and  country;  and,  that  they  might 


224  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

enjoy  and  exercise  it  fully,  tliey  forsook  houses,  and  lands, 
and  kindred,  their  homes,  their  native  soil,  and  their 
fathers'  graves. 

They  left  all  these;  they  left  England,  which,  whatever 
it  might  have  been  called,  was  not  to  them  a  land  of 
freedom ;  they  launched  forth  on  the  pathless  ocean,  the 
wide,  fathomless  ocean,  soiled  not  by  the  earth  beneath, 
and  bounded,  all  round  and  above,  only  by  heaven;  and  it 
seemed  to  them  like  that  better  and  sublimer  freedom, 
which  their  country  knew  not,  but  of  which  they  had  the 
conception  and  image  in  their  hearts;  and,  after  a  toilsome 
and  painful  voyage,  they  came  to  a  hard  and  wintry  coast, 
unfruitful  and  desolate,  but  unguarded  and  boundless;  its 
calm  silence  interrupted  not  the  ascent  of  their  prayers;  it 
had  no  eyes  to  watch,  no  ears  to  hearken,  no  tongues  to 
report  of  them ;  here,  again,  there  was  an  answer  to  their 
soul's  desire,  and  they  were  satisfied,  and  gave  thanks; 
they  saw  that  they  were  free,  and  the  desert  smiled. 

I  am  telling  an  old  tale ;  but  it  is  one  which  must  be 
told  when  we  speak  of  those  men.  It  is  to  be  added,  that 
they  transmitted  their  principles  to  their  children,  and  that, 
peopled  by  such  a  race,  our  country  was  always  free.  So 
long  as  its  inhabitants  were  unmolested  by  the  mother- 
country  in  the  exercise  of  their  important  rights,  they  sub- 
mitted to  the  form  of  English  government;  but  when  those 
rights  were  invaded,  they  spurned  even  the  form  away. 

This  act  was  the  Revolution,  which  came  of  course  and 
spontaneously,  and  had  nothing  in  it  of  the  wonderful  or 
unforeseen.  The  wonder  would  have  been  if  it  had  not 
occurred.  It  was,  indeed,  a  happy  and  glorious  event, 
but  by  no  means  unnatural ;  and  I  intend  no  slight  to  the 
revered  actors  in  the  Revolution  when  I  assert  that  their 
fathers  before  them  were  as  free  as  they  —  every  whit  as 
free. 

The  principles  of  the  Revolution  were  not  the  suddenly 
acquired  property  of  a  few  bosoms:    they  were  abroad  in 


SIXTH  REA'DER.  225 

the  land  in  the  ages  before;  they  had  always  been  taught, 
like  the  ti'uths  of  the  Bible;  they  had  descended  from 
father  to  son,  down  from  those  j)rimitive  days,  when  the 
Pilgrim,  established  in  his  simple  dwelling,  and  seated  at  his 
blazing  fire,  piled  high  from  the  forest  Avhich  shaded  his 
door,  repeated  to  his  listening  children  the  story  of  his 
wrongs  and  his  resistance,  and  bade  them  rejoice,  though 
the  wild  winds  and  the  wild  beasts  were  howling  without, 
that  they  had  nothing  to  fear  from  great  men's  opi^ression. 

Here  are  the  beginnings  of  the  Revolution.  Every  set- 
tler's hearth  was  a  school  of  independence;  the  scholars 
were  apt,  and  the  lessons  sunk  deeply;  and  thus  it  came 
that  our  country  was  always  free;  it  could  not  be  other 
than  free. 

As  deeply  seated  as  was  the  principle  of  liberty  and  re- 
sistance to  arbitrary  power  in  the  breasts  of  the  Puritans, 
it  was  not  more  so  than  their  i^iety  and  sense  of  religious 
obligation.  They  were  emphatically  a  people  whose  God 
was  the  Lord.  Their  form  of  government  was  as  strictly 
theocratical,  if  direct  communication  be  exce2:)ted,  as  was 
that  of  the  Jews;  insomuch  that  it  would  be  difficult  to 
say  where  there  w'as  any  civil  authority  among  them  en- 
tirely distinct  from  ecclesiastical  jurisdiction. 

Whenever  a  few  of  them  settled  a  town,  they  immedi- 
ately gathered  themselves  into  a  church;  and  their  elders 
were  magistrates,  and  their  code  of  laws  was  the  Penta- 
teuch. These  were  forms,  it  is  true,  but  forms  which  faith- 
fully indicated  principles  and  feelings;  for  no  people  could 
have  adopted  such  forms,  who  were  not  thoroughly  imbued 
with  the  spirit,  and  bent  on  the  practice,  of  religion. 

God  was  their  King;  and  they  regarded  him  as  truly 
and  literally  so,  as  if  he  had  dwelt  in  a  visible  palace  in 
the  midst  of  their  state.  They  were  his  devoted,  resolute, 
humble  subjects;  they  undertook  nothing  which  they  did 
not  beg  of  him  to  prosper;  they  accomplished  nothing 
without  rendering  to  him  the  praise;  they  suffered  nothing 


226  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

without  carrying  their  sorrows  to  his  throne;  they  ate 
nothing  which  they  did  not  implore  him  to  bless. 

Their  piety  was  not  merely  external;  it  was  sincere;  it 
had  the  proof  of  a  good  tree  in  bearing  good  fruit;  it  pro- 
duced and  sustained  a  strict  morality.  Tlieir  tenacious 
purity  of  manners  and  sj^eech  obtained  for  them,  in  the 
mother-country,  their  .  name  of  Puritans,  which,  though 
given  in  derision,  was  as  honorable  an  appellation  as  was 
ever  bestowed  by  man  on  man. 

That  there  were  hypocrites  among  them,  is  not  to  be 
doubted ;  but  they  were  rare.  The  men  who  voluntarily 
exiled  themselves  to  an  unknown  coast,  and  endured  there 
every  toil  and  hardship  for  conscience'  sake,  and  that  they 
might  serve  God  in  their  own  manner,  were  not  likely  to 
set  conscience  at  defiance,  and  make  the  service  of  God  a 
mockery ;  they  were  not  likely  to  be,  neither  were  they, 
hypocrites.  I  do  not  know  that  it  would  be  arrogating  too 
much  for  them  to  say,  that,  on  the  extended  surface  of  the 
globe,  there  was  not  a  single  community  of  men  to  be  com- 
pared with  them,  in  the  respects  of  deep  religious  impres- 
sions and  an  exact  performance  of  moral  duty. 

F.  W.  P.  Ghreenwood. 

Note. — The  Pentateuch  is  the  first  five  books  of  the  Uld 
Testament.  The  word  is  derived  from  two  Greek  words,  •Khts 
(pente),  five,  and  ttvxoi  (teuchos),  book. 


LVIII.    LANDING    OF   THE   PILGRIM   FATHERS. 

Felicia  Dorothea  Heman?,  1794-1S;W,  was  born  in  Liverpool.  Her 
father,  whose  name  was  Browne,  was  an  Irish  merchant.  She  spent  her 
childhood  in  Wales,  began  to  write  poetry  at  a  very  early  age,  and  was 
married  when  about  eighteen  to  Captain  Hemans.  By  this  marriage,  she 
became  the  mother  of  five  sons;  but,  owing  to  diflferences  of  taste  and 
disposition,  her  husband  left  her  at  the  end  of  six  years;  and  by  mutual 
agreement  they  never  again  lived  together.  Mrs.  Hemans  now  made  lit- 
erature a  profession,  and  wrote  much  and  well.  In  1826  Prof.  Andrews 
Norton  brouglit  out  an  edition  of  her  poems  in  America,  where  they  be- 
came popular,  and  have  reinained  so. 


SIXTH  READER.  227 

Mrs.  Hemans's  poetry  is  smooth  and  graceful,  frequently  tinged  with  a 
shade  of  melancholy,  but  never  despairing,  cynical,  or  misanthropic.  It 
never  deals  with  the  highest  themes,  nor  rises  to  sublimity,  but  its 
influence  is  calculated  to  make  the  reader  truer,  nobler,  and  purer. 


The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 
On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 

And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky 
Their  giant  branches  tossed ; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark, 

The  hills  and  Avaters  o'er, 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted,  came; 
Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums. 

And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame. 

Not  as  the  flying  come. 

In  silence,  and  in  fear;  — 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert  gloom 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang, 

And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea; 

And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 
To  the  anthem  of  the  free! 

The  ocean-eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  white  wave's  foam ; 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared, — 

This  was  their  welcome  home. 


228  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

There  were  men  with  hoar}'  hair 

Amidst  that  pilgrim  band : 
Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there, 

Away  from  their  childhood's  land? 

There  was  woman's  fearless  eye, 

Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth; 
There  was  manhood's  brow,  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine? 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war? — 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine! 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground. 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod: 
They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found, - 

Freedom  to  worship  God. 


Note. — The  Pilgrim  Fathers  landed  at  Plymouth,  Mass., 
Dec.  nth  (Old  Style),  1620.  The  rock  on  which  they  first 
stepped,  is  in  Water  Street  of  the  village,  and  is  covered  by  a 
handsome  granite  canopy,  surmounted  by  a  colossal  statue  of 
Faith. 


LIX.    NECESSITY   OF   EDUCATION. 

We  must  educate!  We  must  educate!  or  we  must 
perish  by  our  own  prosperity.  If  we  do  not,  short  will  be 
our  race  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave.  If,  in  our  haste  to 
be  rich  and  mighty,  Ave  outrun  our  literary  and  religious 
institutions,  they  will  never  overtake  us;  or  only  come  up 
after  the  battle  of  liberty  is  fought  and  lost,  as  spoils  to 


SIXTH  READER.  229 

grace  the  victory,  and  as  resources  of  inexorable  despotism 
for  the  perpetuity  of  our  bondage. 

But  what  will  become  of  the  West  if  her  prosperity 
rushes  up  to  such  a  majesty  of  power,  while  those  great  in- 
stitutions linger  which  are  necessary  to  form  the  mind,  and 
the  conscience,  and  the  heart  of  the  vast  Avorld?  It  must 
not  be  permitted.  And  yet  what  is  done  must  be  done 
quickly;  for  population  will  not  wait,  and  commerce  will 
not  cast  anchor,  and  manufactures  will  not  shut  off  the 
steam,  nor  shut  down  the  gate,  and  agriculture,  pushed  by 
millions  of  freemen  on  their  fertile  soil,  will  not  withhold 
her  corrupting  abundance. 

And  let  no  man  at  the  East  quiet  himself,  and  dream  of 
liberty,  whatever  may  become  of  the  West.  Our  alliance 
of  blood,  and  political  institutions,  and  common  interests, 
is  such,  that  we  can  not  stand  aloof  in  the  hour  of  her 
calamity,  should  it  ever  come.  Her  destiny  is  our  destiny; 
and  the  day  that  her  gallant  ship  goes  down,  our  little  boat 
sinks  in  the  vortex! 

The  great  experiment  is  now  making,  and  from  its  extent 
and  rapid  filling  up,  is  making  in  the  West,  whether  the 
perpetuity  of  our  rejiublican  institutions  can  be  reconciled 
with  universal  suffrage.  Without  the  education  of  the 
head  and  heart  of  the  nation,  they  can  not  be;  and  the 
question  to  be  decided  is,  can  the  nation,  or  the  vast  bal- 
ance power  of  it,  be  so  imbued  with  intelligence  and  virtue 
as  to  bring  out,  in  laws  and  their  administration,  a  per- 
petual self-preserving  energy.  We  know  that  the  work  is  a 
vast  one,  and  of  great  difficulty;  and  yet  we  believe  it  can 
be  done. 

I  am  aware  that  our  ablest  patriots  are  looking  out  on 
the  deep,  vexed  with  storms,  with  great  forebodings  and 
failings  of  heart,  for  fear  of  the  things  that  are  coming 
upon  us;  and  I  perceive  a  spirit  of  impatience  rising,  and 
distrust  in  respect  to  the  perpetuity  of  our  republic;  and  I 
am  sure  that  these  fears  are  well  founded,  and  am  glad 


230  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

that  they  exist.  It  is  the  star  of  hope  in  our  dark  horizon. 
Fear  is  what  we  need,  as  the  ship  needs  wind  on  a  rocking 
sea,  after  a  storm,  to  prevent  foundering.  But  when  our 
fear  and  our  efforts  shall  correspond  with  our  danger,  the 
danger  is  past. 

For  it  is  not  the  imi^ossibility  of  self-preservation  wliicli 
threatens  us ;  nor  is  it  the  unwillingness  of  the  nation,  to 
pay  the  price  of  the  preservation,  as  she  has  paid  the  price 
of  the  purchase  of  our  liberties.  It  is  Inattention  and  in- 
consideration,  protracted  till  the  crisis  is  past,  and  the 
things  which  belong  to  our  peace  are  hid  from  our  eyes. 
And  blessed  be  God,  that  the  tokens  of  a  national  waking 
up,  the  harbinger  of  God's  mercy,  are  multiplying  upon 
us! 

We  did  not,  in  the  darkest  hour,  believe  that  God  had 
brought  our  fatliers  to  this  goodly  land  to  lay  the  founda- 
tion of  religious  liberty,  and  wrought  such  wonders  in  their 
preservation,  and  raised  their  descendants  to  such  heights 
of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  only  to  reverse  the  analogy  of 
his  providence,  and  al)andon  his  work. 

And  though  there  now  be  clouds,  and  the  sea  roaring, 
and  men's  hearts  failing,  we  believe  there  is  light  behind 
the  cloud,  and  that  the  imminence  of  our  danger  is  in- 
tended, under  the  guidance  of  Heaven,  to  call  forth  and 
apply  a  holy,  fraternal  fellowship  between  the  East  and 
the  West,  which  shall  secure  our  preservation,  and  make 
the  prosperity  of  our  nation  durable  as  time,  and  as 
abundant  as  the  waves  of  the  sea. 

I  would  add,  as  a  motive  to  immediate  action,  that  if  we 
do  fail  in  our  great  experiment  of  self-government,  our  de- 
struction will  be  as  signal  as  the  birthright  abandoned,  the 
mercies  abused,  and  the  provocation  offered  to  beneficent 
Heaven.  The  descent  of  desolation  will  correspond  with 
the  past  elevation. 

No  punishments  of  Heaven  are  so  severe  as  those  for 
mercies  abused;    and  no  instrumentality  employed  in  their 


SIXTH  READER.  231 

infliction  is  so  dreadful  as  the  wrath  of  man.  No  spasms 
are  like  the  spasms  of  expiring  liberty,  and  no  wailing 
such  as  her  convulsions  extort. 

It  took  Rome  three  hundred  years  to  die;  and  our 
death,  if  we  perish,  will  be  as  much  more  terrific  as  our 
intelligence  and  free  institutions  have  given  us  more  bone, 
sinew,  and  vitality.  May  God  hide  from  me  the  day  when 
the  dying  agonies^  of  my  country  shall  begin!  O  thou 
beloved  land,  bound  together  by  the  ties  of  brotherhood, 
and  common  interest,  and  perils!  live  forever  —  one  and 
undivided ! 

— Lyman  Beeclier. 


LX.    RIDING    ON   A    SNOW-PLOW. 

Benjamin  Franklin  Taylor,  1822 ,  was  born  at   Lowville,  New 

York,  and  graduated  at  Madison  University,  of  whii-li  his  fatlier  was 
president.  Here  he  remained  as  resident  graduate  for  about  Ave  yeare. 
His  "  Attractions  of  Language"  was  publislied  in  IS4.5.  For  many  years 
Mr.  Taylor  was  literary  editor  of  the  "  Cliicago  Journal."  He  has  written 
considerably  for  the  magazines,  and  is  author  of  many  well-known  fugi- 
tive pieces  both  in  prose  and  verse.  He  has  also  published  several  books, 
of  which  "Januaiy  and  June,"  "Pictures  in  Camp  and  Field,"  "The 
World  on  Wheels,"  "  Old-time  Pictures  and  Sheaves  of  Rhyme,"  "  Be- 
tween the  Gates,"  and  "Songs  of  Yesterday,"  are  the  best  known.  Mr. 
Taylor  has  achieved  some  reputation  as  a  lecturer.  His  writings  are 
marked  by  an  exuberant  fancy. 

Did  you  ever  ride  on  a  snow-plow?  Not  the  pet  and 
pony  of  a  thing  that  is  attached  to  the  front  of  an  engine, 
sometimes,  like  a  pilot;  but  a  great  two-storied  monster  of 
strong  timbers,  that  runs  upon  wheels  of  its  own,  and  that 
boys  run  after  and  stare  at  as  they  would  after  and  at  an 
elephant.  You  are  snow-bound  at  Buffalo.  The  Lake 
Shore  Line  is  piled  Avith  drifts  like  a  surf  Two  passenger 
trains  have  been  half-buried  for  twelve  hours  somewhere  in 
snowy  Chautauqua.  The  storm  howls  like  a  congregation 
of  Arctic  bears.  But  the  superintendent  at  Buffalo  is  de- 
termined to  release  his  cast-aways,  and  clear  the  road   to 


232  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Erie.  He  permits  you  to  be  a  passenger  on  the  great 
snow-plow ;  and  there  it  is,  all  ready  to  drive.  Harnessed 
behind  it,  is  a  tandem  team  of  three  engines.  It  does  not 
occur  to  you  that  you  are  going  to  ride  on  a  steam-drill, 
and  so  you  get  aboard. 

It  is  a  spacious  and  timbered  room,  with  one  large  bull's- 
eye  window, — an  overgrown  lens.  The  thing  is  a  sort  of 
Cyclops.  There  are  ropes,  and  chains,  and  a  windlass. 
There  is  a  bell  by  which  the  engineer  of  the  first  engine 
can  signal  the  plowman,  and  a  cord  whereby  the  plowman 
can  talk  back.  There  are  two  sweeps,  or  arms,  worked  by 
machinery,  on  the  sides.  You  ask  their  use,  and  the  super- 
intendent replies,  "When,  in  a  violent  shock,  there  is  dan- 
ger of  the  monster's  upsetting,  an  arm  is  put  out,  on  one 
side  or  the  other,  to  keep  the  thing  from  turning  a  com- 
plete somersault."  You  get  one  idea,  and  an  inkling  of 
another.  So  you  take  out  your  Accident  Policy  for  three 
thousand  dollars,  and  examine  it.  It  never  mentions  bat- 
tles, nor  duels,  nor  snow-plows.  It  names  "public  convey- 
ances." Is  a  snow-plow  a  jniblic  conveyance?  You  are  in- 
clined to  think  it  is  neither  that  nor  any  other  kind  that 
you  should  trust  yourself  to,  but  it  is  too  late  for  consider- 
ation. 

You  roll  out  of  Buffalo  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind,  and  the 
world  is  turned  to  snow'.  All  goes  merrily.  The  machine 
strikes  little  drifts,  and  they  scurry  away  in  a  cloud.  The 
three  engines  breathe  easily ;  but  by  and  by  the  earth 
seems  broken  into  great  billows  of  dazzling  white.  The 
sun  comes  out  of  a  cloud,  and  touches  it  up  till  it  out- 
silvers  Potosi.  Houses  lie  in  the  trough  of  the  sea  every- 
where, and  it  requires  little  imagination  to  think  they  are 
pitching  and  tossing  before  your  eyes.  A  great  breaker 
rises  right  in  the  way.  The  monster,  with  you  in  it,  works 
its  way  up  and  feels  of  it.  It  is  packed  like  a  ledge  of 
marble.  Three  whistles!  The  machine  backs  away  and 
keeps  backing,  as  a  gymnast   runs  astern    to   get  sea-room 


SIXTH  READER.  233 

and  momentum  for  a  big  jump;   as  a  giant  swings  aloft  a 
heavy  sledge,  that  it  may  come  down  with  a  heavy  blow. 

One  whistle!  You  have  come  to  a  halt.  Three  pairs  of 
whistles  one  after  the  other!  and  then,  putting  on  all 
steam,  you  make  for  the  drift.  The  superintendent  locks 
the  door,  you  do  not  quite  understand  why,  and  in  a 
second  the  battle  begins.  The  machine  rocks  and  creaks 
in  all  its  joints.  There  comes  a  tremendous  shock.  The 
cabin  is  as  dark  as  midnight.  The  clouds  of  flying  snow 
put  out  the  day.  The  labored  breathing  of  the  locomotives 
behind  you,  the  clouds  of  smoke  and  steam  that  wrap  you 
up  as  in  a  mantle,  the  noon-day  eclipse  of  the  sun,  the 
surging  of  the  ship,  the  rattling  of  chains,  the  creak  of 
timbers  as  if  the  craft  were  aground  and  the  sea  getting 
out  of  its  bed  to  whelm  you  altogether,  the  doubt  as  to 
what  will  come, —  all  combine  to  make  a  scene  of  strange 
excitement  for  a  land-lubber. 

You  have  made  some  impression  on  the  breaker,  and 
again  the  machine  backs  for  a  fair  start,  and  then  another 
plunge,  and  shock,  and  twilight.  And  so,  from  deep  cut  to 
deep  cut,  as  if  the  season  had  packed  all  his  winter  clothes 
upon  the  track,  until  the  stalled  trains  are  reached  and 
passed;  and  then,  with  alternate  storm  and  calm,  and  halt 
and  shock,  till  the  way  is  cleared  to  Erie. 

It  is  Sunday  afternoon,  and  Erie — "Mad  Anthony 
Wayne's "  old  headquarters  —  has  donned  its  Sunday 
clothes,  and  turned  out  by  hundreds  to  see  the  great  plow 
come  in,  —  its  first  voyage  over  the  line.  The  locomotives 
set  up  a  crazy  scream,  and  you  draw  slowly  into  the  depot. 
The  door  opened  at  last,  you  clamber  down,  and  gaze  up  at 
the  uneasy  house  in  which  you  have  been  living.  It  looks 
as  if  an  avalanche  had  tumbled  down  ujdou  it, — white  as  an 
Alpine  shoulder.  Your  first  thought  is  gratitude  that  you 
have  made  a  landing  alive.  Your  second,  a  resolution  that, 
if  again  you  ride  a  hammer,  it  will  not  be  when  three 
engines  have  hold  of  the  handle! 

6.— 20. 


234  ECLECTIC   SERIES. 

Notes. — Chautauqua  is  the  most  western  county  in  the 
state  of  New  York;   it  borders  on  Lake  Erie. 

The  Cyclops  are  described,  in  Grecian  mythology  as  giants 
having  only  one  eye,  which  was  circular,  and  placed  in  the 
middle  of  the  forehead. 

Cerro  de  Potosi  is  a  mountain  in  Bolivia,  South  America, 
celebrated  for  its  mineral  wealth.  More  than  five  thousand 
mines  liave  been  opened  in  it;  the  product  is  chiefly  silver. 

"Mad  Anthony  Wayne"  (b.  1745,  d.  179G),  so  called 
from  his  bravery  and  apparent  recklessness,  was  a  famous 
American  officer  during  the  Revolution.  In  1794  he  con- 
ducted a  successful  campaign  against  the  Indians  of  the 
North-west,  making  his  headquarters  at  Erie,  Pa. 


LXI.  THE  QUARREL  OF  BRUTUS  AND  CASSIUS. 

Cos.     That  you  have  Avronged  me  doth  appear  in  this: 
You  have  condemned  and  noted  Lucius  Pella 
For  taking  bribes  here  of  tlie  Sardiaus; 
Wherein  my  letters,  praying  on  his  side, 
Because  I  knew  the  man,  were  sliglited  off". 

Brii.    You  wronged  yourself  to  write  in  such  a  case. 

Cas.     In  such  a  time  as  this,  it  is  not  meet 

That  every  nice  offense  should  bear  his  comment. 

Bru.    Yet  let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 

Are  much  condemned  to  have  an  itching  jjalm. 
To  sell  and  mart  your  offices  for  gold 
To  undeservers. 

Cas.  I  an  itching  palm! 

You  know  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this, 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  were  else  your  last. 

Bru.    The  name  of  Cassius  honors  this  corruption. 

And  chastisement  doth  therefore  hide  his  head. 

Cas.     Chastisement ! 

Bru.    Remember  March,  the  ides  of  March  remember! 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake? 


SIXTH  READER.  235 

What  villain  touched  his  body,  that  did  stab, 
And  not  lor  justice?     What!  shall  one  of  us. 
That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world 
But  for  supporting  robbers;  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  lingers  with  base  bribes, 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honors 
For  so  much  tiash  as  may  be  grasped  thus? 
I  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Cas.  Brutus,  bay  not  me; 

I'll  not  endure  it:  you  forget  yourself. 
To  hedge  me  in;  I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 

Bru.  Go  to;  you  are  not,  Cassius. 

Cas.     I  am. 

Bru.    I  say  you  are  not. 

Cas.     Urge  me  no  more,  I  shall  forget  myself: 

Have  mind  upon  your  health ;  tempt  me  no  further. 

Bru.    Away,  slight  man! 

Cas.     Is't  possible? 

Bru.  Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. 

Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler? 
Shall  I  be  frighted  when  a  madman  stares? 

Cas.     O  ye  gods!    ye  gods!   must  I  endure  all  this? 

Bru.    All  this !     Ay,  more :  fret  till  your  proud  heart  break ; 
Go,  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are. 
And   make  your  bondmen  tremble.     Must  I  budge? 
Must  I  observe  you?     Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humor?     By  the  gods. 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen, 
Though  it  do  split  you;  for,  from  this  day  forth, 
I'll  use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea  for  my  laughter. 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Cas.  .  Is  it  come  to  this? 

Bru.    You  say  you  are  a  better  soldier: 


236  ECLECTIC   SERIES. 

Let  it  appear  so ;  make  your  vaunting  true, 
And  it  shall  please  me  well:  for  mine  own  part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cas.     You  wrong   me  every  way;    you  wrong  me,  Brutus; 
I  said,  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better: 
Did  I  say  "better"? 

Bru.  If  you  did,  I  care  not. 

Cas.     When  Caesar  lived,  he  durst  not  thus  have  moved  me. 

Bru.    Peace,  peace!  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted  him. 

Cos.     I  durst  not? 

Bru.    No.  I 

Cos.     What!  durst  not  tempt  him? 

Bru.  For  your  life,  you  durst  not. 

Cas.     Do  not  presume  too  much  ujDon  my  love; 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for. 

Bru.    You  haye  done  that  you  should  be  sorry  for. 
There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats; 
For  I  am  armed  so  strong  in  honesty 
That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind, 
Which  I  respect  not.     I  did  send  to  you 
For  certain  sums  of  gold,  which  you  denied  me;— 
For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means: 
By  heaven!     I  had  rather  coin  my  heart, 
And  drop  my  blood  for  drachmas,  than  to  wring 
From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash 
By  any  indirection. —  I  did  send 
To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions, 
Which   you  denied  me:  was  that  done  like  Cassius? 
Should  I  have  answered  Cains  Cassius  so? 
When  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous. 
To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends, 
Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts; 
Dash  him  to  pieces ! 

C(Vi.  I  denied  you  not. 

Bru.    You  did. 

Cas.     I  did  not:  he  was  but  a  fool  that  brought 


SIXTH  READER.  237 

My  answer  back.     Brutus  hath  rived  my  heart: 
A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities, 
But  Brutus  makes  mine  greater  than  they  are. 

Bru.    I  do  not,  till  you  practice  them  on  me. 

Gas.     You  love  me  not. 

Bru.  I  do  not  like  your  faults. 

Cos.     A  friendly  eye  could  never  see  such  faults. 

Bru.    A  flatterer's  would  not,  though  they  do  appear 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus. 

Cks.     Come,  Antony,  and  young  Octavius,  come, 
Revenge  yourselves  alone  on  Cassius, 
For  Cassius  is  a- weary  of  the  world; 
Hated  by  one  he  loves;  braved  by  his  brother; 
Checked  like  a  bondman ;  all  his  faults  observed, 
Set  in  a  note-book,  learned,  and  conned  by  rote. 
To  cast  into  my  teeth.     Oh,  I  could  weep 
My  spirit  from  mine  eyes!     There  is  my  dagger. 
And  here  my  naked  breast;  within,  a  heart 
Dearer  than  Plutus'  mine,  richer  than  gold : 
If  that  thou  be'st  a  Roman,  take  it  forth: 
I,  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart: 
Strike,  as  thou  didst  at  Csesar;  for,  I  know. 
When  thou  didst  hate  him  worst,  thou  lovedst  him  better 
Than  ever  thou  lovedst  Cassius. 

Bru.  Sheathe  your  dagger : 

Be  angry  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope; 
Do  what  you  will,  dishonor  shall  be  humor. 
O  Cassius,  you  are  yoked  with  a  lamb 
That  carries  anger  as  the  flint  bears  fire; 
Who,  much  enforced,  shows  a  hasty  spark. 
And  straight  is  cold  again. 

Ga&.  Hath  Cassius  lived 

To  be  but  mirth  and  laughter  to  his  Brutus, 
When  grief,  and  blood  ill-tempered,  vexeth  him? 

Bru.    When  I  spoke  that,  I  was  ill-tempered,  too. 

Cos,     Do  you  confess  so  much?     Give  me  your  hand. 


238  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Bru.    And  my  heart,  too. 

Gas.  O  Brutus! 

Bru.  -     What's  the  matter? 

Cos.     Have  you  not  love  enough  to  bear  with  me, 

When  that   rash   humor  which  my  mother  gave  me 

Makes  me  forgetful? 
Ih'ii.  Yes,  Cassius;  and,  from  henceforth, 

When  you  are  over-earnest  with  your  Brutus, 

He'll  think  your  mother  chides,  and  leave  you  so. 

Shakespeare. — Jtdiiis  Ccesar,  Act  iv,  Seem  Hi. 

Notes. — Ides  (pro.  Idz)  was  a  term  used  in  the  Roman  cal- 
endar. It  fell  on  the  fifteenth  day  of  March,  May,  July,  and 
October,  and  on  the  thirteenth  of  other  months.  On  the  ides 
of  March,  44  B.  C,  Julius  Caesar  was  murdered  by  Brutus, 
Cassius,  and  other  conspirators.  The  populace  were  aroused  to 
indignation,  and  the  conspirators  were  compelled  to  fly. 

Indirection ;  ?'.  c,  dishonest  means. 

Antony  and  Octavius,  who,  with  Lepidus,  formed  the 
triumvirate  now  governing  Eome,  were  at  this  time  marching 
against  the  forces  of  Brutus  and  Cassius. 

Plutus,  in  ancient  mythology,  the  god  of  wealth. 


LXII.     THE    QUACK. 

John  Tobin,  1770-1804,  ti  solicitor,  was  born  at  Salisbury,  England,  and 
died  on  shipboard  near  Cork.  He  wrote  several  comedies,  tlie  most  popti- 
lar  being  "The  Honeymoon,"  from  which  this  extract  is  taken;  it  was 
published  in  1805. 

Scene — The   Inn.     Enter  Hostess  JoUoioed   by   Lampedo, 
a  Quack  Doctor. 

Mod.     Nay,  nay;  another  fortnight. 
Lamp.  It  can't  be. 

The  man's  as  well  as  I  am:  have  some  mercy! 

He  hath  been  here  almost  three  weeks  already. 


SIXTH  READEE.  239 

Host.     Well,  then,  a  week. 

Lamp.  We  may  detain  him  a  week.  {Enter  Balthazar, 
the  patient,  from  behind,  in  his  night-gown,  with  a 
drawn  sivord.) 

You  talk  now  like  a  reasonable  hostess. 

That  sometimes  has  a  reckoning  with  her  conscience. 
Host.     He  still  believes  he  has  an  inward  bruise. 
Lamp.  I  would  to  heaven  he  had!  or  that  he'd  slipped 

His  shoulder-blade,  or  broke  a  leg  or  two, 

(Not  that  I  bear  his  person  any  malice,) 

Or  lused  an  arm,  or  even  sprained  his  ankle! 
Host.     Ay,  broken  any  thing  except  his  neck. 
Lamp.  However,  for  a  w'eek  I'll  manage  him, 

Though  he  had  the  constitution  of  a  horse  — 

A  farrier  should  prescribe  for  him. 
Balth.    A  farrier!     (Aside.) 
Lamp.  To-morrow,  we  phlebotomize  again; 

Next  day,  my  new-invented  patent  draught; 

Then,  I  have  some  pills  prepared; 

On  Thursday,  we  throw  in  the  bark ;    on  Friday — 
Balth.    (Coming  forward.)     Well,  sir,  on  Friday  —  what,  on 
Friday  ?     Come, 

Proceed. 
Lamp.  Discovered ! 

Host.     Mercy,  noble  sir!  |  y,^^^  j^^^  ^,^  ^,^^.^.  ^,^^^_ 

Lamp.  We  crave  your  mercy !  ) 
Balth.    On  your  knees?   'tis  well! 

Pray!  for  your  time  is  short. 
Host.     Nay,  do  not  kill  us. 
Balth.    You  have  been  tried,  condemned,  and  only  wait 

For  execution.     Which  shall  I  begin  with? 
Lamp.  The  lady,  by  all  means,  sir. 
Balth.    Come,  prepare.     (Tb  the  hostess.) 
Host.     Have  pity  on  the  weakness  of  my  sex ! 
Balth.    Tell  me,  thou  quaking  mountain  of  gross  flesh. 

Tell  me,  and  in  a  breath,  how  many  poisons  — 


240  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

If  you  attempt  it — {To  Lampedo,  ^vho  is  making  off) 
you  have  cooked  up  for  me? 
Host.     None,  as  I  hope  for  mercy! 
Balth.    Is  not  thy  wine  a  poison? 
Host.     No  indeed,  sir; 

'Tis  not,  I  own,  of  the  first  quality; 

But  — 
Balth.  What? 
Host.     I  always  give  short  measure,  sir. 

And  ease  my  conscience  that  way. 
Balth.    Ease  your  conscience! 

I'll  ease  your  conscience  for  you. 
Host.     Mercy,  sir! 

Balth.    Rise,  if  thou  canst,  and  hear  nie. 
Hod.     Your  commands,  sir? 
Balth.    If,  in  five  minutes,  all  things  are  prepared 

For  my  departure,  you  may  yet  survive. 
Host.     It  shall  be  done  in  less. 
Balth.    Away,  thou  lumj^-fish.     {Exit  hostess.) 
Lamp.  So!  now  comes  my  turn!   'tis  all  over  with  me! 

There's  dagger,  rope,  and  ratsbane  in  his  looks! 
Balth.    And  now,  thou  sketch  and  outline  of  a  man ! 

Thou  thing  that  hast  no  shadow  in  the  sun! 

Thou  eel  In  a  consumption,  eldest  born 

Of  Death  and  Famine!  thou  anatomy 

Of  a  starved  pilchard ! 
Lamp.  I  do  confess  my  leanness.     I  am  spare, 

And,  therefore,  spare  me. 
Balth.    Why  wouldst  thou  have  made  me 

A  thoroughfare,  for  thy  whole  shop  to  pass  through  ? 
Lamp.  Man,  you  know,  must  live. 
Balth.    Yes:  he  must  die,  too. 
Lamp.  For  my  patients'  sake! 
Balth.    I'll  send  you  to  the  major  part  of  them  — 

The  window,  sir,  is  open;  —  come,  prepare. 
Lamp.  Pray  consider! 


SIXTH  READER.  241 

I  may  hurt  some  one  iu  the  street. 

Balik.    Why,  then, 

I'll  rattle  thee  to  pieces  in  a  dice-box. 

Or  grind  thee  in  a  coffee-mill  to  powder. 

For  thou  must  sup  with  Pluto: — so,  make  ready! 

Whilst  I,  with  this  good  small-sword  for  a  lancet, 

Let  thy  starved  spirit  out  (for  blood  thou  hast  none), 

And  nail  thee  to  the  wall,  wdiere  thou  shalt  look 

Like  a  dried  beetle  with  a  pin  stuck  through  him. 

Lamp.  Consider  my  poor  wife. 

Balth.   Thy  wife! 

Lamp.  My  wife,  sir. 

Balth.    Hast  thou  dared  think  of  matrimony,  too? 
Thou  shadow  of  a  man,  and  base  as  lean! 

Lamp.  O  spare  me  for  her  sake ! 

I  have  a  wnfe,  and  three  angelic  babes, 
Who,  by  those  looks,  are  well  nigh  fatherless. 

Balth.    Well,  well!   your  wife  and  children  shall  plead  for 
you. 
Come,  come;    the   pills!    where  are  the  pilLs?     Pro- 
duce them. 

Lamp.  Here  is  .he  box. 

Balth.    Were  it  Pandora's,  and  each  single  pill 

Had  ten  diseases  in  it,  you  should  take  them. 

Lamp.  What,  all? 

Balth.    Ay,    all;    and    quickly,    too.      Come,    sir,    begin  — 
(Lampedo  takes  one. )     That 's  well !  —  Another. 

Lamp.  One's  a  dose. 

Balth.    Proceed,  sir. 

Lamp.  What  will  become  of  me? 

Let  me  go  home,  and  set  my  shop  to  rights, 
And,  like  immortal  Caesar,  die  with  decency. 

Balth.    Away!  and  thank  thy  ^ucky  star  I  have  not 

Brayed  thee  in  thine  own  mortar,  or  exposed   thee 
For  a  large  specimen  of  the  lizard  genus. 

Lamp.  Would  I  were  one! — for  they  can  feed  on  air. 

6.^21. 


242  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Balth.    Home,  sir!  and  be  more  honest. 
Lamp.  If  I  am  not, 

I'll  be  more  wise,  at  least. 

Notes. — Pluto,  in  ancient  mythology,  the  gocl  of  the  lower 
world. 

Pandora  is  described  in  the  Greek  legends  as  the  first 
created  woman.  She  was  sent  by  Jupiter  to  Epimetheus  as  a 
punishment,  because  the  latter's  brother,  Prometheus,  had 
stolen  fire  from  heaven.  When  she  arrived  among  men,  she 
opened  a  box  in  which  were  all  the  evils  of  mankind,  and 
everything  escaped  except  Hope. 


LXIII.    RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 

The  appearance  of  Rip,  with  his  long,  grizzled  beard, 
his  rusty  fowling-piece,  his  uncouth  dress,  and  an  army  of 
women  and  children  at  his  heels,  soon  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  tavern  politicians.  They  crowded  around  him, 
eying  him  from  head  to  foot  with  great  curiosity.  The 
orator  bustled  up  to  him,  and,  drawing  him  partly  aside, 
inquired  on  which  side  he  voted.  Rip  stared  in  vacant 
stupidity.  Another  short  but  busy  little  fellow  pulled  him 
by  the  arm,  and,  rising  on  tiptoe,  inquired  in  his  ear  | 
"whether  he  was  Federal  or  Democrat."  ' 

Rip  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  the  question; 
when  a  knowing,  self-important  old  gentleman,  in  a  sharp 
cocked  hat,  made  his  way  through  the  crowd,  putting  them 
to  the  right  and  left  with  his  elbows  as  he  passed,  and 
planting  himself  before  Van  Winkle,  with  one  arm  akimbo, 
the  other  resting  on  his  cane,  his  keen  eyes  and  sharp  hat 
penetrating,  as  it  were,  into  his  very  soul,  demanded,  in 
an  austere  tone,  what  brought  him  to  the  election  with  a 
gun  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  mob  at  his  heels,  and  whether 
he  meant  to  breed  a  riot  in  the  village. 


SIXTH  READER.  243 

"Alas!  gentlemeu,"  cried  Rip,  somewhat  dismayed,  "I 
am  a  poor,  quiet  man,  a  native  of  the  place,  and  a  loyal 
subject  of  the  king,  God  bless  him!"  Here  a  general 
shout  burst  from  the  bystanders.  —  "A  tory!  a  tory!  a 
spy!  a  refugee!  hustle  him!  away  with  him!"  It  was 
with  great  difficulty  that  the  self-important  man  in  the 
cocked  hat  restored  order;  and,  having  a  tenfold  austerity 
of  brow,  demanded  again  of  the  unknown  culprit,  what  he 
came  there  for,  and  whom  he  was  seeking.  The  poor  man 
humbly  assured  him  that  he  meant  no  harm,  but  merely 
came  there  in  search  of  some  of  his  neighbors,  who  used  to 
keep  about  the  tavern.  "Well,  who  are  they?  name 
them." 

Rip  bethought  himself  a  moment,  and  inquired,  "Where's 
Nicholas  Vedder?"  There  was  a  silence  for  a  little  while, 
when  an  old  man  replied,  in  a  thin,  piping  voice,  "Nicholas 
Vedder!  Avhy  he  is  dead  and  gone  these  eighteen  years! 
There  was  a  wooden  tombstone  in  the  church-yard  that 
used  to  tell  all  about  him,  but  that's  rotten  and  gone  too." 
"Where's  Brom  Dutcher?"  "Oh,  he  went  off  to  the 
army  in  the  beginning  of  the  war.  Some  say  he  was  killed 
at  the  storming  of  Stony  Point ;  others  say  he  was  drowned 
in  a  squall  at  the  foot  of  Anthony's  Nose.  I  don't  know; 
he  never  came  back  again." 

"Where's  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster?"  "He  went 
off  to  the  wars,  too ;  was  a  great  militia  general,  and 
is  now  in  Congress."  Rip's  heart  died  away  at  hearing  of 
these  sad  changes  in  his  home  and  friends,  and  finding 
himself  thus  alone  in  the  world.  Every  answer  puzzled 
him,  too,  by  treating  of  such  enormous  lapses  of  time,  and 
of  matters  which  he  could  not  understand  —  war,  Congress, 
Stony  Point.  He  had  no  courage  to  ask  after  any  more 
friends,  but  cried  out  in  despair,  "Does  nobody  here  know 
Rip  Van  Winkle?" 

"Oh,  Rip  Van  Winkle!"  exclaimed  two  or  three.  "Oh, 
to    be    sure!      That's    Rip    Van    Winkle    yonder,    leaning 


244  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

against  the  tree."  Rip  looked,  and  beheld  a  precise  counter- 
part of  himself  as  he  went  up  the  mountain ;  apparently  as 
lazy,  and  certainly  as  ragged.  The  poor  fellow  was  now 
completely  confounded;  he  doubted  his  ow'n  identity,  and 
whether  he  was  himself  or  another  man.  In  the  midst  of 
his  bewilderment,  the  man  in  the  cocked  hat  demanded 
who  he  was,  and  what  was  his  name. 

"God  knows!"  exclaimed  he,  at  his  writ's  end.  "I'm 
not  myself;  I'm  somebody  else;  that's  me  yonder;  no, 
that's  somebody  else  got  into  my  shoes.  I  was  myself  last 
night;  but  I  fell  asleep  on  the  mountain,  and  they've 
changed,  my  gun,  and  every  thing's  changed,  and  I'm 
changed,  and  I  can't  tell  what's  my  name  or  who  I  am!" 

The  by-standers  began  now  to  look  at  each  other,  nod, 
wink  significantly,  and  tap  their  fingers  against  their  fore- 
heads. There  was  a  whisper,  also,  about  securing  the  gun, 
and  keeping  the  old  fellow  from  doing  mischief,  at  the  very 
suggestion  of  which  the  self-important  man  in  the  cocked 
hat  retired  with  some  precipitation.  At  this  critical  mo- 
ment, a  fi'esh,  comely  woman  pressed  through  the  throng 
to  get  a  peep  at  the  gray-bearded  man.  She  had  a  chubby 
child  in  her  arms,  which,  frightened  at  his  looks,  began  to 
cry.  "Hush,  Rip!"  cried  she,  "hush,  you  little  fool!  the 
old  man  won't  hurt  you." 

The  name  of  the  child,  the  air  of  the  mother,  the  tone 
of  her  voice,  all  awakened  a  train  of --recollections  in  his 
mind.  "What  is  your  name,  my  good  woman?"  asked 
he,  "Judith  Gardenier."  "And  your  father's  name?" 
"Ah,  poor  man!  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  his  name;  but  it's 
twenty  years  since  he  went  away  from  home  with  his  gun, 
and  never  has  been  heard  of  since;  his  dog  came  home 
without  him;  but  whether  he  shot  himself,  or  was  carried 
away  by  the  Indians,  nobody  can  tell.  I  was  then  but  a 
little  girl." 

Rip  had  but  one  question  more  to  ask;  but  he  put  it 
with   a  faltering  voice:    "Where's  your  mother?"     "Oh, 


SIXTH  READER.  245 

she,  too,  died  but  a  short  time  since;  she  broke  a  blood- 
vessel in  a  fit  of  passion  at  a  New  England  peddler." 
There  was  a  drop  of  comfort,  at  least,  in  this  intelligence. 
The  honest  man  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  He 
caught  his  daughter  and  her  child  in  his  arms.  "I  am 
your  father!"  cried  he.  "Young  Rip  Vau  Winkle  once, 
old  Rip  Van  Winkle  now !  Does  nobody  know  poor  Rip 
Van  Winkle?" 

All  stood  amazed,  until  an  old  Avoman,  tottering  out 
from  among  the  crowd,  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  and, 
peering  under  it  in  his  face  for  a  moment,  exclaimed, 
"Sure  enough!  it  is  Rip  Van  Winkle!  it  is  himself! 
Welcome  home  again,  old  neighbor!  Why,  where  have 
you  been  these  twenty  long  years?"  Rip's  story  was  soon 
told,  for  the  whole  twenty  years  had  been  to  him  but  as 
one  night. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  company  broke  uj^  and 
returned  to  the  more  important  concerns  of  the  election. 
Rip's  daughter  took  him  home  to  live  with  her.  She  had  a 
snug,  well-furnished  house,  and  a  stout,  cheery  farmer  for  a 
husband,  whom  Rip  recollected  for  one  of  the  urchins  that 
used  to  climb  upon  his  back.  Rip  now  resumed  his  old 
walks  and  habits.  He  soon  found  many  of  his  former 
cronies,  though  all  rather  the  worse  for  the  wear  and  tear 
of  time,  and  preferred  making  friends  among  the  rising  gen- 
eration, with  whom  he  soon  grew  into  great  favor. 

— Irving. 

Notes. — Rip  Van  "Winkle,  according  to  Irving's  story  in 
"The  Sketch  Book,"  was  a  great  drunkard,  and  was  driven 
from  his  home  in  the  Catskill  Mountains,  one  night,  by  his 
wife.  Wandering  among  the  mountains,  he  fell  in  with  the 
ghosts  of  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  crew,  with  whom  he 
played  a  game  of  ninepins.  Upon  drinking  the  liquor  which 
they  offered  him,  however,  he  immediately  fell  into  a  deep 
sleep  which    lasted    for    twenty    years.      The  above  lesson  re- 


246  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

counts  the  events  that  befell  him  when  he  returned  to  his 
native  village.  In  the  meantime  the  Revolution  of  177G  had 
taken  place. 

The  Federals  and  the  Democrats  formed  the  two  lead- 
ing political  parties  of  that  time. 

Stony  Point  is  a  promontory  on  the  Hudson,  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  Highlands,  forty -two  miles  from  New  York.  It 
was  a  fortified  post  during  the  Revolution,  captured  by  the 
British,  and  again  retaken  by  the  Americans  under  Wayne. 
Anthony's  Nose  is  also  a  promontory  on  the  Hudson,  about 
fifteen  miles  above  Stony  Point. 


LXrV.    BILL  AND   JOB. 


Oliver  "Wendell  Holmes,  1800 ,  is  the  son  of  Abiel  Holmes,  D.D. 

He  was  boru  in  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  and  graduated  at  Harvard  in 
1829,  having  for  classmates  several  men  who  have  since  become  distin- 
guished. After  graduating,  he  studied  law  for  about  one  year,  and  then 
turned  his  attention  to  medicine.  He  .studied  his  profession  in  Paris,  and 
elsewhere  in  Europe,  and  took  his  degree  at  Cambridge  in  1836.  In  1838 
he  was  appointed  Professor  of  Anatomy  and  Physiology  in  Dartmouth 
College.  He  remained  here  but  a  .short  time,  and  then  returned  to 
Boston  and  entered  on  the  practice  of  medicine.  In  1847  he  was  ap- 
pointed professor  at  Harvard,  filling  a  siinilar  i)osition  to  the  one  held 
at  Dartmouth.  He  has  discharged  the  duties  of  his  professorship  for 
more  than  thirty  years,  with  great  success.  Literature  has  never  been 
his  profession;  yet  few  American  authors  have  attained  higher  success, 
both  as  a  poet  and  as  a  pro.se  writer.  His  poems  are  lively  and  spark- 
ling, abound  in  wit  and  humoi-,  but  are  not  wanting  in  genuine  pathos. 
Many  of  them  were  composed  for  special  occasions.  His  prose  writings 
include  works  on  medicine,  essays,  and  novels;  several  appeared  first  as 
contributions  to  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly."  He  has  gained  reputation, 
also,  as  a  popular  lecturer.  In  person.  Dr.  Holmes  is  small  and  active, 
with  a  face  expressive  of  thought  and  vivacity. 


Come,  dear  old  comrade,  you  and  I 
Will  steal  an  hour  from  days  gone  by  — 
The  shining  days  when  life  was  new, 
And  all  was  bright  as  morning  dew, 
The  lusty  days  of  long  ago, 
When  you  were  Bill  and  I  was  Joe. 


SIXTH  READER.  247 

Your  name  may  flaunt  a  titled  trail 
Proud  as  a  cockerel's  rainbow  tail, 
And  mine  as  brief  appendix  wear 
As  Tam  O'Shanter's  luckless  mare; 
To-day,  old  friend,  remember  still 
That  I  am  Joe  and  you  are  Bill. 

You've  won  the  great  world's  envied  prize, 
And  grand  you  look  in  people's  eyes, 
With  HON.  and  LL.  D., 
In  big,  brave  letters  fair  to  see, — 
Your  fist,  old  fellow !     Off  they  go !  — 
How  are  you.  Bill?    How  are  you,  Joe? 

Yoik've  worn  the  judge's  ermined  robe; 
You've  taught  your  name  to  half  the  globe; 
You've  sung  mankind  a  deathless  strain; 
You've  made  the  dead  past  live  again: 
The  world  may  call  you  what  it  will, 
But  you  and  I  are  Joe  and  Bill. 

The  chaffing  young  folks  stare  and  say, 
"See  those  old  buffers,  bent  and  gray; 
They  talk  like  fellows  in  their  teens; 
Mad,  poor  old  boys!     That's  what  it  means" — 
And  shake  their  heads;  they  little  know 
The  throbbing  hearts  of  Bill  and  Joe  — 

How  Bill  forgets  his  hour  of  pride. 
While  Joe  sits  smiling  at  his  side; 
How  Joe,  in  spite  of  time's  disguise. 
Finds  the  old  schoolmate  in  his  eyes, — 
Those  calm,  stern  eyes,  that  melt  and  fill, 
As  Joe  looks  fondly  up  to  Bill. 


248  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Ah !  pensive  scholar,  what  is  fame  ? 

A  fitful  tongue  of  leaping  flame; 

A  giddy  whirlwind's  fickle  gust, 

That  lifts  a  pinch  of  mortal  dust: 

A  few  swift  years,  and  who  can  show 

Which  dust  was  Bill,  and  which  was  Joe. 


The  weary  idol  takes  his  stand, 

Holds  out  his  bruised  and  aching  hand, 

While  gaping  thousands  come  and  go  — 

How  vain  it  seems,  this  empty  show!  — 

Till  all  at  once  his  pulses  thrill: 

'Tis  poor  old  Joe's,  "God  bless  you,  Bill!" 

And  shall  we  breathe  in  happier  spheres^ 
The  names  that  please^  our  mortal  ears; 
In  some  sweet  lull  of  heart  and  song 
For  earth-born  spirits  none  too  long, 
Just  whispering  of  the  world  below 
When  this  was  Bill,  and  that  was  Joe? 

No  matter;  while  our  home  is  here. 
No  sounding  name  is  half  so  dear; 
When  fades  at  length  our  lingering  day. 
Who  cares  what  pompous  tomb-stones  say? 
Read  on  the  hearts  that  love  us  still, 
Hie  jacet  Joe.     Hie  jacet  Bill. 


Note. — Hie  jacet  (pro.  hie  ja'^et)  is  a  Latin  phrase,  mean- 
ing here  lies.     It  is  frequently  used  in  epitaphs. 


SIXTH  READER.  249 


LXV.    SORROW    FOR  THE   DEAD. 

The  sorrow  for  the  dead  is  the  only  sorrow  from  which 
we  refuse  to  be  divorced.  Every  other  wound  we  seek  to 
heal;  every  other  affliction,  to  forget;  but  this  wound  we 
consider  it  a  duty  to  keep  ojjen.  This  affliction  we  cherish, 
and  brood  over  in  solitude.  Where  is  the  mother  who 
would  willingly  forget  the  infant  that  has  perished  like  a 
blossom  from  her  arms,  though  every  recollection  is  a 
pang?  Where  is  the  child  that  would  willingly  forget  a 
tender  parent,  though  to  remember  be  but  to  lament? 
Who,  even  in  the  hour  of  agony,  would  forget  the  friend 
over  whom  he  mourns? 

No,  the  love  which  survives  the  tomb  is  one  of  the 
noblest  attributes  of  the  soul.  If  it  has  its  woes,  it  has 
likewise  its  delights:  and  when  the  overwhelming  burst  of 
grief  is  calmed  into  the  gentle  tear  of  recollection;  when 
the  sudden  anguish  and  the  convulsive  agony  over  the 
present  ruins  of  all  that  we  most  loved,  is  softened  away 
into  pensive  meditation  on  all  that  it  was  in  the  days  of  its 
loveliness,  who  would  root  out  such  a  sorrow  from  the 
heart?  Though  it  may,  sometimes,  throw  a  passing  cloud 
over  the  bright  hour  of  gayety,  or  spread  a  deeper  sadness 
over  the  hour  of  gloom ;  yet,  who  Avould  exchange  it  even 
for  the  song  of  pleasure,  or  the  burst  of  revelry?  No, 
there  is  a  voice  from  the  tomb  sweeter  than  song.  There 
is  a  remembrance  of  the  dead,  to  which  we  turn  even  from 
the  charms  of  the  living. 

Oh,  the  grave!  the  grave!  It  buries  every  error,  covers 
every  defect,  extinguishes  every  resentment !  From  its 
peaceful  bosom  spring  none  but  fond  regrets  and  tender 
recollections.  Who  can  look  down  upon  the  grave  even  of 
an  enemy,  and  not  feel  a  compunctious  throb,  that  he 
should  have  warred  with  the  poor  handful  of  earth  that 
lies  moldering   before   him?      But   the  grave   of  those  we 


250  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

loved  —  what  a  place  for  meditation!  There  it  is  that  we 
call  up,  in  long  review,  the  whole  history  of  virtue  and 
gentleness,  and  the  thousand  endearments  lavished  upon  us, 
almost  unheeded  in  the  daily  intercourse  of  intimacy;  there 
it  is  that  we  dwell  upon  the  tenderness,  the  solemn,  awful 
tenderness  of  the  parting  scene;  the  bed  of  death,  with  all 
its  stifled  griefs,  its  noiseless  attendance,  its  mute,  watchful 
assiduities!  the  last  testimonies  of  expiring  love!  the 
feeble,  fluttering,  thrilling, —  oh!  how  thrilling! — pressure 
of  the  hand !  the  last  fond  look  of  the  glazing  eye  turning 
upon  us,  even  from  the  threshold  of  existence!  the  faint, 
faltering  accents,  struggling  in  death  to  give  one  more  as- 
surance of  aflTection ! 

Ay,  go  to  the  grave  of  buried  love,  and  meditate !  There 
settle  the  account  Avith  thy  conscience  for  every  past  benefit 
unrequited ;  every  past  endearment  unregarded,  of  that  de- 
parted being,  who  can  never — never — never  return  to  be 
soothed  by  thy  contrition!  If  thou  art  a  child,  and  hast 
ever  added  a  sorrow  to  the  soul,  or  a  furrow  to  the  silvered 
brow  of  an  affectionate  parent;  if  thou  art  a  husband,  and 
hast  ever  caused  the  fond  bosom  that  ventured  its  whole 
happiness  in  thy  arms  to  doubt  one  moment  of  thy  kind- 
ness or  thy  truth ;  if  thou  art  a  friend,  and  hast  ever 
wronged,  in  thought,  or  Avord,  or  deed,  the  spirit  that  gen- 
erously confided  in  thee;  if  thou  hast  given  one  unmerited 
jmng  to  that  true  heart,  which  now  lies  cold  and  still  be- 
neath thy  feet;  then  be  sure  that  every  unkind  look,  every 
ungracious  word,  every  ungentle  action,  will  come  throng- 
ing back  upon  thy  memory,,  and  knocking  dolefully  at  thy 
soul;  then  be  sure  that  thou  wilt  lie  doAvn  sorrowing  and 
repentant  on  the  grave,  and  utter  the  unheard  groan,  and 
pour  the  unavailing  tear ;  more  deep,  more  bitter,  because 
unheard  and  unavailing. 

Then  Aveave  thy  chaplet  of  floAvers,  and  strew  the  beauties 
of  nature  about  the  grave;  console  thy  broken  sjiirit,  if 
thou  canst,  Avith  these  tender,  yet  futile,  tributes  of  regret; 


SIXTH  READER.  251 

but  take  warning  by  the  bitterness  of  this,  thy  contrite 
affliction  over  the  dead,  and  lienceforth  be  more  fjiithful 
and  affectionate  in  the  discharge  of  thy  duties  to  the 
living. 

—  Irving. 


LXVI.    THE   EAGLE. 


James  Gates  Percival,  1795-1856,  was  born  at  Berlin,  Connecticut,  and 
graduated  at  Yale  College  in  1815,  at  the  head  of  his  class.  He  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  practice  of  medicine  in  1820,  and  went  to  Charleston,  South 
Carolina.  In  1821  he  was  appointed  Professor  of  Chemistry  at  West 
Point,  a  position  which  he  held  but  a  few  months.  In  1854  he  was  ap- 
pointed State  Geologist  of  Wisconsin,  and  died  at  Hazel  Green,  in  that 
state.  Dr.  Percival  was  eminent  as  n  geographer,  geologist,  and  linguist. 
He  began  to  write  poetry  at  an  early  age,  and  his  fame  rests  chiefly  upon 
his  writings  in, this  department.  In  liis  private  life,  Percival  was  always 
shy,  modest,  and  somewhat  given  to  melancholy.  Financially,  his  life 
was  one  of  struggle,  and  he  was  often  greatly  straitened  for  money. 


Bird  of  the  broad  and  sweeping  wing! 

Thy  home  is  high  in  heaven, 
Where  the  wide  storms  their  banners  fling, 

And  the  tempest  clouds  are  driven. 
Thy  throne  is  on  the  mountain-top; 

Thy  fields,  the  boundless  air; 
And  hoary  peaks,  that  proudly  prop 

The  skies,  thy  dwellings  are. 

Thou  art  perched  aloft  on  the  beetling  crag, 

And  the  waves  are  white  below, 
And  on,  with  a  haste  that  can  not  lag, 

They  rush  in  an  endless  flow. 
Again  thou  hast  plumed  tliy  wing  for  flight 

To  lands  beyond  the  sea, 
And  away,  like  a  spirit  Wreathed  in  light, 

Thou  hurriest,  wild  and  free. 


252  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Lord  of  the  boundless  realm  of  air! 

In  thy  imperial  name, 
The  hearts  of  the  bold  and  ardent  dare 

The  dangerous  path  of  fame. 
Beneath  the  shade  of  thy  golden  wings, 

The  Roman  legions  bore, 
From  the  river  of  Egypt's  cloudy  springs, 

Their  pride,  to  the  polar  shore. 

For  thee  they  fought,  for  thee  they  fell, 

And  their  oath  on  thee  was  laid ; 
To  thee  the  clarions  raised  their  swell. 

And  the  dying  warrior  prayed. 
Thou  wert,  through  an  age  of  death  and  fears, 

The  image  of  pride  and  power. 
Till  the  gathered  rage  of  a  thousand  years. 

Burst  forth  in  one  awful  hour. 


And  then,  a  deluge  of  wrath,  it  came, 

And  the  nations  shook  with  dread  ; 
And  it  swept  the  earth,  till  its  fields  were  flame, 

And  piled  with  the  mingled  dead. 
Kings  were  rolled  in  the  wasteful  flood, 

AVith  the  low  and  crouching  slave; 
And  together  lay,  in  a  shroud  of  blood. 

The  coward  and  the  brave. 


Notes. — Roman  legions.  The  Roman  standard  was  the 
image  of  an  eagle.  The  soldiers  swove  by  it,  and  the  loss  of 
it  was  considered  a  disgrace. 

One  awful  hour.  Alluding  to  the  destruction  of  Rome 
by  the  northern  barbarians. 


SIXTH  READER.  253 


LXVII.    POLITICAL   TOLERATION. 

Thomas  JeflFerson,  1743-1826,  the  third  President  of  the  United  States, 
and  the  authc^r  of  tlie  Declaration  of  Independence,  was  born  in  Albe- 
marle County,  Virginia.  He  received  most  of  his  early  education  under 
private  tutors,  and  at  the  age  of  seventeen  entered  William  and  Mary 
College,  where  he  remained  two  years.  At  college,  where  he  studied  in- 
dustriously, he  formed  the  acquaintance  of  several  distinguished  men,— 
among  them  was  George  Wythe,  with  whom  he  entered  on  the  study  of 
law.  At  the  age  of  twenty-four  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  soon 
rose  to  high  standing  In  his  profession.  In  1775  he  entered  the  Colonial 
Congress,  having  previously  served  ably  in  the  legislature  of  his  native 
state.  Although  one  of  the  youngest  men  in  Congress,  he  soon  took  a 
foremost  place  in  that  body.  He  left  Congress  in  the  fall  of  1776,  and,  as 
a  member  of  the  legislature,  and  later  as  Governor  Df  Virginia,  he  was 
chiefly  instrumental  in  eflfecting  several  important  reforms  in  the  laws 
of  that  state,  —  the  most  notable  were  the  abolition  of  the  law  of  pri- 
mogeniture, and  the  passage  of  a  law  making  all  religious  denominatio.is 
equal.  From  1785  to  1789  he  was  Minister  to  France.  On  liis  return  to 
America  he  was  made  Secretary  of  State,  in  tlie  first  Cabinet.  While  in 
this  office,  he  became  the  leader  of  the  Republican  or  Anti-Federalist 
party,  in  opposition  to  the  Federalist  party  led  by  Alexander  Hamilton. 
From  1801  to  1809  he  was  President.  On  leaving  his  liigh  office,  he  retired 
to  his  estate  at  "  Monticello,"  where  he  passed  the  closing  years  of  his 
life,  and  died  on  the  4th  of  July,  just  fifty  years  after  the  passage  of  his 
famous  Declaration.  His  compatriot,  and  sometimes  bitter  political  op- 
ponent, John  Adams,  died  on  the  same  day. 

Mr.  JeflTerson,  who  was  never  a  ready  public  speaker,  was  a  remark- 
ably clear  and  forcible  writer;  his  works  fill  several  large  volumes.  In 
personal  character,  he  was  pure  and  simple,  cheerful,  and  disposed  to 
look  on  the  bright  side.  His  knowledge  of  life  rendered  his  conversation 
highly  attractive.  The  cliief  enterprise  of  his  later  years  was  the  found- 
ing of  the  University  of  Virginia,  at  Charlottesville. 


During  the  contest  of  opinion  through  which  we  have 
passed,  the  animation  of  discussions  and  of  exertions  has 
sometimes  worn  an  aspect  which  might  impose  on  stran- 
gers, unused  to  think  freely  and  to  speak  and  to  write 
what  they  think ;  but  this  being  now  decided  by  the  voice 
of  the  nation,  announced  according  to  the  rules  of  the  con- 
stitution, all  will,  of  course,  arrange  themselves  under  the 
will  of  the  law,  and  unite  in  common  efforts  for  the 
common  good. 

All,   too,   will  bear  in  mind  this  sacred   principle,  that, 


254  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

though  the  will  of  the  majority  is,  in  all  cases,  to  prevail, 
that  will,  to  be  rightful,  must  be  reasonable;  that  the  mi- 
nority possess  their  equal  rights,  which  equal  laws  must 
protect,  and  to  violate  which  would  be  oppression.  Let  us 
then,  fellow-citizens,  unite  with  one  heart  and  one  mind. 

Let  us  restore  to  social  intercourse  that  harmony  and 
affection,  without  which  liberty,  and  even  life  itself,  are  but 
dreary  things;  and  let  us  reflect,  that,  having  banished 
from  our  land  that  religious  intolerance  under  which  man- 
kind so  long  bled  and  suffered,  wc  have  gained  little  if  we 
countenance  a  political  intolerance  as  despotic,  as  wicked, 
and  capable  of  as  bitter  and  bloody  persecutions. 

During  the  throes  and  convulsions  of  the  ancient  W'orld; 
during  the  agonizing  spasms  of  infuriated  man,  seeking, 
through  blood  and  slaughter,  his  long-lost  liberty;  it  was 
not  wonderful  that  the  agitation  of  the  billows  should 
reach  even  this  distant  and  peaceful  shore;  that  this  should 
be  more  felt  and  feared  by  some,  and  less  by  others,  and 
should  divide  opinions  as  to  measures  of  safety. 

But  every  difference  of  opinion  is  not  a  difference  of 
principle.  We  have  called  by  different  names  brethren  of 
the  same  principle.  We  are  all  Republicans;  we  are  all 
Federalists.  If  there  be  any  among  us  who  would  wish  to 
dissolve  this  Union,  or  to  change  its  republican  form,  let 
them  stand  undisturbed  as  monuments  of  the  safety  with 
which  error  of  opinion  may  be  tolerated  when  reason  is  left 
free  to  combat  it. 

I  know,  indeed,  tliat  some  honest  men  fear  that  a  repub- 
lican government  can  not  be  strong;  that  this  government 
is  not  strong  enough.  But  would  the  honest  patriot,  in  the 
full  tide  of  successful  experiment,  abandon  a  government 
which  has  so  far  kept  us  free  and  firm,  on  the  theoretic 
and  visionary  fear  that  this  government,  the  world's  best 
hope,  may,  by  possibility,  w'ant  energy  to  preserve  itself? 
I  trust  not;  I  believe  this,  on  the  contrary,  the  strongest 
government  on  earth. 


SIXTH  READER.  256 

I  believe  it  to  be  the  only  one  where  every  man,  at  the 
call  of  the  law,  would  fly  to  tlie  standard  of  the  law,  and 
would  meet  invasions  of  the  j)ublic  order  as  his  own  per- 
sonal concern.  Sometimes  it  is  said  that  man  can  not  be 
trusted  with  the  government  of  himself.  Can  he,  then,  be 
trusted  with  the  government  of  others,  or  have  we  found 
angels,  in  the  form  of  kings,  to  govern  him?  Let  history 
answer  this  question.  Let  us,  then,  with  courage  and  con- 
fidence, pursue  our  own  federal  and  republican  principles; 
our  attachment  to  union  and  representative  government. 

Note. — At  the  time  of  Jefferson's  election,  party  sjiirit  ran 
very  high.  He  had  been  defeated  by  John  Adams  at  the  pre- 
vious presidential  election,  but  the  Federal  party,  to  which 
Adams  belonged,  became  weakened  by  their  management  dur- 
ing difficulties  with  France;  and  now  Jefferson  had  been 
elected  president  over  his  formerly  successful  rival.  The 
above  selection  is  from  his  inausural  address. 


LXVIII.    WHAT    CONSTITUTES   A    STATE? 


Sir  "William  Jones,  1746-1794,  was  the  son  of  an  eminent  mathema-. 
tician;  he  early  distinguished  himself  by  his  ability  as  a  student.  He 
graduated  at  Oxford,  became  well-ver.sed  in  Oriental  literature,  studied 
law,  and  wrote  many  able  books.  In  1783  he  was  appointed  Judge  of  the 
Supreme  Court  of  Judicature  in  Bengal.  He  was  a  man  of  astonishing 
learning,  upright  life,  and  Christian  principles. 


What  constitutes  a  state? 
Not  high-raised  battlement  or  labored  mound, 

Thick  wall  or  moated  gate; 
Not  cities  proud  with  spires  and  turrets  crowned ; 

Not  bays  and  broad-armed  ports. 
Where,  laughing  at  the  storm,  rich  navies  ride; 

Not  starred  and  spangled  courts. 
Where  low-browed  baseness  wafts  perfume  to  pride. 


256  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

No:  —  men,  high-minded  men, 
With  powers  as  far  above  dull  brutes  endued 

In  forest,  brake,  or  den. 
As  beasts  excel  cold  rocks  and  brambles  rude, — 

Men  who  their  duties  know. 
But  know  their  rights,  and,  knowing,  dare  maintain, 

Prevent  the  long-aimed  blow. 
And  crush  the  tyrant  while  they  rend  the  chain: 

These  constitute  a  state; 
And  sovereign  Law,  that  state's  collected  will, 

O'er  thrones  and  globes  elate, 
Sits  empress,  crowning  good,  repressing  ill. 


LXIX.    THE   BRAVE    AT    HOME. 

Thomas  Buchanan  Read,  1822-1872,  an  American  poet  and  painter, 
was  born  in  Chester  County,  Pennsylvania.  At  the  age  of  seventeen  he 
entered  a  sculptor's  studio  in  Cincinnati.  Here  he  gained  reputation  as 
a  ijainter  of  portraits.  From  this  city  he  went  to  New  York,  Boston,  and 
Philadelphia,  and  soon  after  to  Florence,  Italy.  In  the  later  years  of  his 
life,  he  divided  his  time  between  Cincinnati,  Philadelphia,  and  Rome. 
His  complete  poetical  works  fill  three  volumes.  Several  of  his  most 
stirring  poems  relate  to  the  Revolutionary  War,  and  to  the  late  Civil 
War  in  America.  Many  of  his  poems  are  marked  by  vigor  and  a  ringing 
power,  while  smoothness  and  delicacy  distinguish  others,  no  less. 

The  maid  who  binds  her  warrior's  sash, 

And,  smiling,  all  her  pain  dissembles, 
The  while  beneath  the  drooping  lash. 

One  starry  tear-drop  hangs  and  trembles; 
Though  Heaven  alone  records  the  tear. 

And  fame  shall  never  know  her  story, 
Her  heart  has  shed  a  drop  as  dear 

As  ever  dewed  the  field  of  glory! 

The  wife  who  girds  her  husband's  sword, 
'Mid  little  ones  who  weep  and  wonder, 


SIXTH  READER.  257 

And  bravely  speaks  the  cheering  word, 

What  though  her  heart  be  rent  asunder; — 

Doomed  nightly  in  her  dreams  to  hear 
The  bolts  of  war  around  him  rattle, — 

Has  shed  as  sacred  blood  as  e'er 

Was  poured  upon  the  field  of  battle! 

The  mother  who  conceals  her  grief, 

While  to  her  breast  her  son  she  presses, 
Then  breathes  a  few  brave  words  and  brief, 

Kissing  the  patriot  brow  she  blesses; 
With  no  one  but  her  loving  God, 

To  know  the  pain  that  weighs  upon  her, 
Sheds  holy  blood  as  e'er  the  sod 

Received  on  Freedom's  field  of  honor! 

Note. — The  above  selection  is  from  the  poem  entitled  "The 
Wagoner  of  the  Alleghanies." 


LXX.     SOUTH    CAROLINA, 

Robert  Young  Hayne,  1791-1840,  was  bom  In  Colleton  District,  South 
Carolina,  and  studied  and  practiced  law  at  Charleston.  He  was  early 
elected  to  the  State  Legislature,  and  became  Speaker  of  the  House  and 
Attorney-general  of  the  state.  He  entered  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States  at  the  age  of  thirty-one.  He  was  Governor  of  Soutli  Carolina 
during  the  "Nullification"  troubles  in  1832  and  1833.  Mr.  Hayne  was  a 
clear  and  able  debater,  and  a  stanch  advocate  of  the  extreme  doctrine  of 
"  State  Rights."  In  the  Senate  he  opposed  the  Tariff  Bill  of  1828 ;  and, 
out  of  this  struggle,  grew  his  famous  debate  with  Daniel  Webster  in  1830. 
The  following  selection  is  an  extract  from  Mr.  Hayne's  speech  on  that 
memorable  occasion. 

If  there  be  one  state  in  the  Union,  Mr.  President,  that 
may  challenge  comparison  with  any  other,  for  a  uniform, 
zealous,  ardent,  and  uncalculating  devotion  to  the  Union, 
that  state  is  South  Carolina.  Sir,  from  the  very  com- 
mencement of  the  Revolution,  up  to  this  hour,  there  is  no 

6.-22. 


258  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

sacrifice,  however  great,  she  has  not  cheerfully  made;  no 
service  she  has  ever  hesitated  to  perform. 

She  has  adhered  to  you  in  your  j^rosperity;  but  in  your 
adversity  she  has  clung  to  you  with  more  than  filial  aftec- 
tion.  No  matter  what  was  the  condition  of  her  domestic 
affairs;  though  deprived  of  her  resources,  divided  by  par- 
ties, or  surrounded  by  difficulties,  the  call  of  the  country 
has  been  to  her  as  the  voice  of  God.  Domestic  discord 
ceased  at  the  sound;  every  man  became  at  once  reconciled 
to  his  brethren,  and  the  sons  of  Carolina  were  all  seen, 
crowding  to  the  temple,  bringing  their  gifts  to  the  altar  of 
their  common  country. 

What,  sir,  was  the  conduct  of  the  South,  during  the 
Revolution?  Sir,  I  honor  New  England  for  her  conduct  in 
that  glorious  struggle.  But  great  as  is  the  praise  which 
belongs  to  her,  I  think  at  least  equal  honor  is  due  to  the 
South.  Never  were  there  exhibited,  in  the  history,  of  the 
world,  higher  examples  of  noble  daring,  dreadful  sufler- 
ing,  and  heroic  endurance,  than  by  the  whigs  of  Carolina, 
during  the  Revolution.  The  whole  state,  from  the  moun- 
tains to  the  sea,  was  overrun  by  an  overwhelming  force  of 
the  enemy.  The  fruits  of  industry  perished  on  the  spot 
where  they  were  produced,  or  were  consumed  by  the  foe. 

The  plains  of  Carolina  drank  up  the  most  precious  blood 
of  her  citizens.  Black,  smoking  ruins  marked  the  places 
which  had  been  the  habitation  of  her  children.  Driven 
from  their  homes  into  the  gloomy  and  almost  impenetrable 
swamps,  even  there  the  spirit  of  liberty  survived,  and 
South  Carolina,  sustained  by  the  example  of  her  Sumters 
and  her  Marions,  proved,  by  her  conduct,  that  though  her 
soil  might  be  overrun,  the  spirit  of  her  people  was  invin- 
cible. 

Notes.— Thomas  Sumter  (b.  1734,  d.  1832)  was  by  birth  a 
Virginian,  but  during  the  Revolution  commanded  South  Caro- 
lina troops.     He  was  one  of  the  most   active  and  able  of  the 


SIXTH  READER.  259 

Southern  generals,  and'  after  the  war,  was  prominent  in  poli- 
tics,    lie  was  the  last  surviving  general  of  the  Revolution. 

Francis  Marion  (b.  1732,  d.  1795),  known  as  the  "Swamp 
Fox,"  was  a  native  South  Carolinian,  of  French  descent. 
Marion's  brigade  became  noted  during  the  Revolution  for  its 
daring  and  surprising  attacks.    See  Lesson  CXXXV. 


LXXI.    MASSACHUSETTS   AND   SOUTH    CAROLINA. 

Daniel  "Webster,  1782-1852.  This  celebrated  American  statesman  and 
orator  was  born  in  Salisbury,  New  Hampshire.  His  father,  Ebenezer 
Webster,  was  a  pioneer  settler,  a  .soldier  in  the  Old  French  War  and 
the  Revolution,  and  a  man  of  ability  and  strict  integrity.  Daniel 
attended  the  common  school  in  his  j^outli,  and  fitted  for  college  under 
Rev.  Samuel  Wood,  of  Boscawen,  graduating  at  Dartmouth  in  1801.  He 
spent  a  few  months  of  his  boyhood  at  "Phillips  Academy,"  Exeter, 
where  he  attained  distinction  as  a  student,  but  was  so  diffident  that  he 
could  never  give  a  declamation  before  his  class.  During  his  college 
cour.se,  and  later,  he  taught  school  several  terms  in  order  to  increase  his 
slender  finances.  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  Boston  in  1805.  For  the 
next  eleven  years,  he  practiced  his  profession  in  his  native  state.  In  1812 
he  was  elected  to  the  United  States  House  of  Representatives,  and  at 
once  took  his  place  as  one  of  the  most  prominent  men  of  that  body.  In 
1816  he  removed  to  Bo.ston;  and  in  1827  he  was  elected  to  the  United 
States  Senate,  where  he  continued  for  twelve  years.  In  1841  he  was  made 
Secretary  of  State,  and  soon  after  negotiated  the  famous  "  Asliburton 
Treaty  "  with  England,  settling  the  northern  boundary  of  the  United 
States.  In  1845  he  returned  to  the  Senate;  and  in  1850  lie  was  re- 
appointed Secretary  of  State,  and  continued  in  ofl^ce  till  his  death.  He 
died  at  his  coiintry  residence  in  Marsliflcld,  Massachusetts. 

Mr.  Webster's  fame  rests  chiefly  on  his  state  papers  and  his  speeches 
In  Congress ;  but  he  took  a  prominent  part  in  some  of  tlie  most  famous 
law  cases  of  the  present  century.  Several  of  his  public  addresses  on  oc- 
casional themes  are  well  known,  also.  As  a  speaker,  he  was  dignified 
and  stately,  using  clear,  straightforward,  pure  English.  He  had  none  of 
the  tricks  of  oratory.  He  was  large  of  person,  with  a  massive  head,  a 
swarthy  complexion,  and  deep-set,  keen,  and  lustrous  eyes.  His  grand 
presence  added  much  to  his  power  as  a  speaker. 

The  eulogium  prououuced  on  the  character  of  the  State 
of  South  Carolina  by  the  honorable  gentleman,  for  her 
Revolutionary  and  other  merits,  meets  my  hearty  concur- 
rence. I  shall  not  acknowledge  that  the  honorable  mem- 
ber goes  before  me,  in  regard  for  whatever  of  distinguished 


260  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

talent  or  distinguished  character  South  Carolina  has  pro- 
duced. I  claim  part  of  the  honor;  I  partake  in  the  pride 
of  her  great  names.  I  claim  them  for  countrymen,  one 
and  all  —  the  Laurenses,  the  Eutledges,  the  Pinckneys,  the 
Sumters,  the  Marions  —  Americans  all  — whose  fame  is  no 
more  to  be  hemmed  in  by  state  lines  than  their  talents 
and  patriotism  were  capable  of  being  circumscribed  within 
the  same  narrow  limits. 

In  their  day  and  generation,  they  served  and  honored 
the  country,  and  the  whole  country,  and  their  renown  is  of 
the  treasures  of  the  whole  country.  Him  whose  honored 
name  the  gentleman  himself  bears, —  does  he  suppose  me 
less  capable  of  gratitude  for  his  patriotism,  or  sympathy  for 
his  suffering,  than  if  his  eyes  had  first  opened  upon  the 
light  in  Massachusetts,  instead  of  South  Carolina?  Sir, 
does  he  suppose  it  in  his  power  to  exhibit  in  Carolina  a 
name  so  bright  as  to  produce  envy  in  my  bosom?  No, 
sir, — increased  gratification  and  delight  rather.  Sir,  I 
thank  God  that,  if  I  am  gifted  with  little  of  the  spirit 
which  is  said  to  be  able  to  raise  mortals  to  the  skies,  I 
have  yet  none,  as  I  trust,  of  that  other  spirit  which  would 
drag  angels  down. 

When  I  shall  be  found,  sir,  in  my  place  here  in  the 
Senate,  or  elsewhere,  to  sneer  at  public  merit  because  it 
happened  to  spring  up  beyond  the  little  limits  of  my  own 
state  or  neighborhood;  when  I  refuse  for  any  such  cause, 
or  for  any  cause,  the  homage  due  to  American  talent,  to 
elevated  patriotism,  to  sincere  devotion  to  liberty  and  the 
country ;  or  if  I  see  an  uncommon  endowment  of  Heaven ; 
if  I  see  extraordinary  capacity  or  virtue  in  any  son  of  the 
South;  and  if,  moved  by  local  prejudice,  or  gangrened  by 
state  jealousy,  I  get  up  here  to  abate  a  tithe  of  a  hair  from 
his  just  character  and  just  fame,  may  my  tongue  cleave  to 
the  roof  of  my  mouth! 

Mr.  President,  I  shall  enter  on  no  encomium  upon  Mas- 
sachusetts.    She  needs  none.     There   she   is;    behold   her. 


I 


SIXTH  READER.  261 

and  judge  for  yourselves.  There  is  her  history;  the  "world 
knows  it  by  heart.  The  past,  at  least,  is  secure.  There  is 
Boston,  and  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and  Bunker  Hill; 
and  there  they  Avill  remain  forever.  And,  sir,  where 
American  Liberty  raised  its  first  voice,  and  where  its  youth 
was  nurtured  and  sustained,  there  it  still  lives,  in  the 
strength  of  its  manhood,  and  full  of  its  original  spirit. 
If  discord  and  disunion  shall  wound  it ;  if  party  strife  and 
blind  ambition  shall  hawk  at  and  tear  it;  if  folly  and 
madness,  if  uneasiness  under  salutary  restraint,  shall  suc- 
ceed to  separate  it  from  that  Union,  by  which  alone  its 
existence  is  made  sure,  it  will  stand,  in  the  end,  by  the 
side  of  that  cradle  in  which  its  infancy  was  rocked;  it  will 
stretch  forth  its  arm,  with  whatever  of  vigor  it  may  still 
retain,  over  the  friends  who  gathered  around  it;  and  it  will 
fall  at  last,  if  fall  it  must,  amid  the  proudest  monuments 
of  its  glory  and  on  the  very  spot  of  its  origin. 

Notes. — The  Laurenses  were  of  French  descent.  Henry 
Laurens  was  appointed  on  the  commission  with  Franklin  and 
Jay  to  negotiate  the  treaty  of  peace  at  Paris  at  the  close  of 
the  Revolution.  His  son,  John  Laurens,  was  an  aid  and  sec- 
retary of  Washington,  who  was  greatly  attached  to  him. 

The  Rutledges  were  of  Irish  descent.  John  Rutledge 
was  a  celebrated  statesman  and  lawyer.  He  was  appointed 
Chief-justice  of  the  United  States,  but  the  Senate,  for  political 
reasons,  refused  to  confirm  his  appointment. 

Edward  Rutledge,  brother  of  the  preceding,  was  Governor 
of  South  Carolina  during  the  last  two  years  of  his  life. 

The  Pinckneys  were  an  old  English  family  who  emigrated 
to  Charleston  in  1687.  Charles  Cotesworth  Pinckney  and  his 
brother  Thomas  were  both  active  participants  in  the  Revolu- 
tion. The  former  was  an  unsuccessful  candidate  for  the  presi- 
dency of  the  United  States,  in  1800. 

Thomas  was  elected  governor  of  South  Carolina  in  1789.  In 
the  war  of  1812  he  served  as  major-general. 

Charles  Pinckney,  a  second  cousin  of  the  two  already  men- 
tioned, was  four  times  elected  governoi-  of  his  state. 


262  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


LXXII.    THE    CHURCH    SCENE   FROM   EVANGELINE. 

Henry  "Wadsworth  Longfellow,  1807-1882,  the  son  of  Hon.  Stephen 
Longfellow,  an  eminent  lawyer  of  Portland,  Maine,  was  born  in  that 
city.  He  graduated,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  at  Bowdoin  College.  He  was 
soon  appointed  to  the  chair  of  Modern  Languages  and  Literature  in  that 
institution,  and,  to  fit  himself  further  for  his  work,  he  went  abroad  and 
spent  four  years  in  Europe.  He  remained  at  Bowdoin  till  1835,  when  he 
was  appointed  to  the  chair  of  Modern  Languages  and  Belles-lettres  in 
Harvard  University.  On  receiving  this  appointment,  he  again  went  to 
Europe  and  remained  two  years.  He  resigned  his  professorship  in  18.54, 
and  after  that  time  resided  in  Cambridge,  pursuing  his  literary  labors 
and  giving  to  the  public,  from  time  to  time,  the  fruits  of  his  pen.  In 
1868  he  made  a  voyage  to  England,  where  he  was  received  with  extra- 
ordinary marks  of  honor  and  esteem.  In  addition  to  Mr.  Longfellow's 
originally  works,  both  in  poetry  and  in  prose,  he  distinguished  him- 
self by  several  translations;  the  most  fam^is  is  that  of  the  works  of 
Dante. 

Mr.  Longfellow's  poetry  is  always  elegant  and  chaste,  showing  in 
every  line  traces  of  his  careful  scholarship.  Yet  it  is  not  above  the 
popular  taste  or  comprehension,  as  is  shown  by  the  numerous  and  varied 
editions  of  his  poems.  Many  of  hiS  poems  treat  of  historical  themes; 
"  Evangeline,"  from  which  the  following  selection  is  taken,  is  esteemed 
by  many  as  the  most  beautiful  of  all  his  longer  poems ;  it  was  first  pub- 
lished in  1847. 

So  passed  the  morning  away.     And  lo!    with  a  summons 

sonorous 
Sounded  the  bell  from  its  tower,  and  over  the  meadows  a 

drum  beat. 
Thronged  erelong  was  the  church  with  men.     Without,  in 

the  churchyard, 
Awaited  the  women.     They  stood  by  the  graves,  and  hung 

on  the  headstones 
Garlands  of  autumn  leaves  and  evergreens  fresh  from  the 

forest. 
Then    came    the    guard    from    the    ships,    and    marching 

proudly  among  them 
Entered    the    sacred    portal.       With    loud    and    dissonant 

clangor 
Echoed  the  sound  of  their  brazen  drums  from  ceiling  and 

casement, — 


SIXTH  READER.  263 

Echoed  a  moment  only,  and  slowly  the  j^onderous  portal 
Closed,  and    in  silence  the  crowd   awaited   the  will  of  the 
soldiers. 


Then  uprose  their  commander,  and  spake  from  the  steps  of 
the  altar, 

Holding  aloft  in  his  hands,  with  its  seals,  the  royal  com- 
mission. 

"You  have  convened  this  day,"  he  said,  "by  his  Majesty's 
orders. 

Clement  and  kind  has  he  been ;  but  how  you  have  an- 
swered his  kindness, 

Let  your  own  hearts  reply!  To  my  natural  make  and  my 
temper 

Painful  the  task  is  I  do,  which  to  you  I  know  must  be 
grievous.  ♦ 

Yet  must  I  bow  and  obey,  and  deliver  the  will  of  our 
monarch ; 

Namely,  that  all  your  lands,  and  dwellings,  and  cattle  of 
all  kinds 

Forfeited  be  to  the  crown;  and  that  you  yourselves  from 
this  province 

Be  transported  to  other  lands.  God  grant  you  may  dwell 
there 

Ever  as  faithful  subjects,  a  happy  and  peaceable  people! 

Prisoners  now  I  declare  you;  lor  such  is  his  Majesty's 
pleasure ! " 

As,  when  the  air  is  serene  in  the  sultry  solstice  of  summer, 
Suddenly   gathers    a   storm,   and    the   deadly    sling   of   the 

hailstones 
Beats  down  the  farmers'  corn  in  the  field  and  shatters  his 

windows, 
Hiding  the  sun,  and  strewing  the  ground  with  thatch  from 

the  house-roofs, 


264  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Bellowing  fly  the  herds,  and  seek  to  break  their  enclosure; 
So  on  the  hearts  of  the  people  descended  the  words  of  the 

speaker. 
Silent  a  moment  they  stood  in  speechless  wonder,  and  then 

rose 
Louder  and  ever  louder  a  wail  of  sorrow  and  anger, 
And,  by   one    impulse    moved,  they  madly  rushed   to   the 

doorway. 

Vain  was  the  hope  of  escape ;  and  cries  and  fierce  impre- 
cations 

Rang  through  the  house  of  prayer ;  and  high  o'er  the 
heads  of  the  others 

Eose,  with  his  arms  uplifted,  the  figure  of  Basil  the  black- 
smith. 

As,  on  a  stormy  sea,  a  spar  i%  tossed  by  the  billows. 

Flushed  was  his  face  aud  distorted  with  passion;  and 
wildly  he  shouted, — 

"  Down  with  the  tyrants  of  England !  we  never  have 
sworn  them  allegiance! 

Death  to  these  foreign  soldiers,  who  seize  on  our  homes  and 
our  harvests ! " 

More  he  fain  Avould  have  said,  but  the  merciless  hand  of 
a  soldier 

Smote  him  upon  the  mouth,  and  dragged  him  doAvn  to  the 
pavement. 

In  the  midst  of  the  strife  and  tumult  of  angry  contention, 
Lo!  the  door  of  the  chancel  opened,  aud  Father  Felician 
Entered,  Avith  serious  mien,  and  ascended  the  steps  of  the 

altar. 
Raising   his  reverend    hand,  with   a   gesture   he  awed  into 

silence 
All  that  clamorous  throng;    and  thus  he  spake  to  his  peo- 
ple; 


SIXTH  READER.  265 

Deep  were  his  tones  and  solemn;  in  accents  measured  and 

mournful 
Spake  he,  as,  after  the  tocsin's  alarum,  distinctly  the  clock 

strikes.  , 


"What  is  this  that  ye  do,  my  children?  what  madness 
has  seized  you? 

Forty  years  of  my  life  have  I  labored  among  you,  and 
taught  you, 

Not  in  word  alone,  but  in  deed,  to  love  one  another! 

Is  this  the  fruit  of  my  toils,  of  my  vigils  and  prayers  and 
privations  ? 

Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  all  the  lessons  of  love  and  for- 
giveness ? 

This  is  the  house  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  and  would  you 
profane  it 

Thus  with  violent  deeds  and  hearts  overflowing  with 
hatred  ? 

Lo !    where    the  crucified   Christ   from   his  cross  is  gazing 


upon  you 


See!  in  those  sorrowful  eyes  Avhat  meekness  and  holy  com- 


passion 


Hark !    how  those  lips  still  repeat   the  prayer,  '  0  Father, 

forgive  them!' 
Let   us  repeat  ■  that   prayer  in   the    hour  when   the  wicked 

assail  us. 
Let  us  repeat  it  now,  and  say,  *0  Father,  forgive  them,'" 


Few  were  his  words  of  rebuke,  but  deep  in  the  hearts  of 
his  people 

Sank  they,  and  sobs  of  contrition  succeeded  the  passionate 
outbreak, 

While  they  repeated  his  prayer,  and  said,  "O  Father,  for- 
give them!" 

6.-23. 


266  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Note. — Nova  Scotia  was  first  settled  by  the  French,  but,  in 
1713,  was  ceded  to  the  English.  The  inhabitants  refusing 
either  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  or  to  bear  arms  against 
their  fellow  countrymen  in  the  French  and  Indian  War,  it  was 
decided  to  remove  the  whole  people,  and  distribute  them 
among  the  other  British  provinces.  This  -was  accordingly 
done  in  1755.  The  villages  were  burned  to  the  ground,  and 
the  people  hurried  on  board  the  ships  in  such  a  way  that  but 
a  few  families  remained  undivided. 

Longfellow's  poem  of  "Evangeline"  is  founded  on  this  in- 
cident, and  the  above  selection  desci'ibes  the  scene  where  the 
male  inhabitants  of  Grand  Pre  are  assembled  in  the  church, 
and  the  order  for  their  banishment  is  first  made  known  to 
them. 


LXXIII.    SONG   OP   THE   SHIRT, 


Thomas  Hood,  1798-1845,  the  son  of  a  London  book-seller,  was  born 
in  that  city.  He  undertook,  after  leaving  school,  to  learn  the  art  of  an 
engraver,  but  soon  gave  up  the  business,  and  turned  his  attention  to  lit- 
erature. His  lighter  pieces,  exhibiting  his  skill  as  a  wit  and  punster, 
soon  became  well  known  and  popular.  In  1821  he  became  sub-editor  of 
the  "  London  Magazine,"  and  formed  the  acquaintance  of  the  literary 
men  of  the  metropolis.  The  last  years  of  his  life  were  clouded  by  pov- 
erty and  ill-health.  Some  of  his  most  humorous  pieces  were  written  on 
a  sick-bed.  Hood  is  best  known  as  a  joker  —  a  writer  of  "whims  and 
oddities  "  —  but  he  was  no  mere  joker.  Some  of  his  pieces  are  filled  with 
the  tenderest  pathos;  and  a  gentle  spirit,  in  love  with  justice  and  hu- 
manity, pervades  even  his  lighter  compositions.  His  "  Song  of  the 
Sliirt "  first  appeared  in  the  "  London  Punch." 


With  fingers  weary  and  worn, 

With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 
A  woman  sat,  in  unwomanly  rags, 

Plying  her  needle  and  thread: 
Stitch!  stitch!  stitch! 
In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt, 

And  still  with  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch, 
She  sang  the  "Song  of  the  Shirt!" 


SIXTH  READER.  267 

"Work!  work!  work! 
While  the  cock  is  crowing  aloof! 

And  work !   work  !  work  ! 
Till  the  stars  shine  through  the  roof! 
It  is  oh  to  be  a  slave 

Along  with  the  barbarous  Turk, 
Where  woman  has  never  a  soul  to  save, 

If  this  is  Christian  work! 

"Work!  work!  work! 
TiU  the  brain  begins  to  swim ; 

Work !  work !  work ! 
Till  the  eyes  are  heavy  and  dim! 

Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band, 
Band,  and  gusset,  and  seam, 

Till  over  the  buttons  I  fall  asleep, 
And  sew  them  on  in  a  dream! 

"O  men,  with  sisters  dear! 

O  men,  with  mothers  and  wives ! 
It  is  not  linen  you're  wearing  out, 

But  human  creatures'  lives ! 
Stitch !  stitch !  stitch ! 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt, — 
Sewing  at  once,  with  a  double  thread, 

A  shroud  as  well  as  a  shirt. 

"But  why  do  I  talk  of  Death? 

That  Phantom  of  grisly  bone, 
I  hardly  fear  his  terrible  shape, 

It  seems  so  like  my  own; 

It  seems  so  like  my  own. 

Because  of  the  fasts  I  keej); 
O  God !  that  bread  should  be  so  dear. 

And  flesh  and  blood  so  cheap! 


268  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

"  Work !  work !   work ! 

My  labor  never  flags; 
And  what  are  its  wages?     A  bed  of  straw, 

A  crust  of  bread  —  and  rags, 
That  shattered  roof — and  this  naked  floor  — 

A  table — a  broken  chair  — 
And  a  wall  so  blank,  my  shadow  I  thank 

For  sometimes  falling  there. 

"Work!  work!  work! 
From  weary  chime  to  chime! 

Work!  work!  work! 
As  prisoners  work  for  crime! 

Band,  and  gusset,  and  seam. 

Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band, 
Till  the  heart  is  sick,  and  the  brain  benumbed, 

As  well  as  the  weary  hand. 

"Work!  work!  work! 
In  the  dull  December  light, 

And  work!  work!  work! 
When  the  weather  is  warm  and  bright; 
While  underneath  the  eaves 

The  brooding  swallows  cling, 
As  if  to  show  me  their  sunny  backs, 

And  twit  me  with  the  spring. 

"Oh  but  to  breathe  the  breath 

Of  the  cowslip  and  primrose  sweet! 
With  the  sky  above  my  head. 

And  the  grass  beneath  my  feet! 
For  only  one  short  hour 

To  feel  as  I  used  to  feel, 
Before  I  knew  the  woes  of  want. 

And  the  walk  that  costs  a  meal ! 


SIXTH  BEADER.  269 

"  Oh  but  for  one  short  lioiir, — 

A  respite,  however  brief! 
No  blessed  leisure  for  love  or  hoj)e, 

But  only  time  for  grief! 
A  little  weeping  would  ease  my  heart, 

But  in  their  briny  bed 
My  tears  must  stop,  for  every  drop 

Hinders  needle  and  thread." 

With  fingers  weary  and  worn, 
With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 
A  woman  sat,  in  unwomanly  rags, 
Plying  her  needle  and  thread : 

Stitch!  stitch!  stitch! 
In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt. 
And  still  Avith  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch  — 
Would  that  its  tone  could  reach  the  rich!  — 
She  sang  this  "Song  of  the  Shirt." 


LXXIV.    DIAMOND    CUT   DIAMOND. 

fidouard  Rene  Lefebvre-Laboulaye,  1811 ,  is  a  French  writer 

of  note.  Most  of  his  works  involve  questions  of  law  and  politics,  and 
are  considered  high  authority  on  the  questions  discussed.  A  few  works, 
such  as  "  Abdallah,"  from  which  the  following  extract  is  adapted,  were 
written  as  a  mere  recreation  in  the  midst  of  law  studies;  they  show 
great  imaginative  power.  Laboulaye  has  taken  great  interest  in  the 
United  States,  her  people,  and  her  literature;  and  many  of  his  works 
are  devoted  to  American  questions.  He  has  translated  the  works  of  Dr. 
William  E.  Channing  into  French. 

Mansour,  the  Egyptian  merchant,  one  day  repaired  to 
the  cadi  on  account  of  a  suit,  the  issue  of  which  troubled 
him  but  little.  A  private  conversation  with  the  judge  had 
given  him  hopes  of  the  justice  of  his  cause.  The  old  man 
asked  his  son  Omar  to  accompany  him  in  order  to  accus- 
tom him  early  to  deal  with  the  law. 


270  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

The  cadi  was  seated  in  the  court-yard  of  the  mosque. 
He  was  a  fat,  good-looking  man,  who  never  thought,  and 
talked  little,  which,  added  to  his  large  turban  and  his  air 
of  perpetual  astonishment,  gave  him  a  great  reputation  for 
justice  and  gravity. 

The  spectators  were  numerous;  the  principal  merchants 
were  seated  on  the  ground  on  carpets,  forming  a  semicircle 
around  the  magistrate.  Mansour  took  his  seat  a  little  way 
from  the  sheik,  and  Omar  placed  himself  between  the  two, 
his  curiosity  strongly  excited  to  see  how  the  law  was 
obeyed,  and  how  it  was  trifled  with  in  case  of  need. 

The  first  case  called  was  that  of  a  young  Banian,  as 
yellow  as  an  orange,  with  loose-flowing  robes  and  an  effem- 
inate air,  who  had  lately  landed  from  India,  and  who  com- 
plained of  having  been  cheated  by  one  of  Mansour's  rivals. 

' '  Having  found  a  casket  of  diamonds  among  the  effects 
left  by  my  father,"  said  he,  "I  set  out  for  Egypt,  to  live 
there  on  the  proceeds  of  their  sale.  I  was  obliged  by  bad 
weather  to  put  into  Jidda,  where  I  soon  found  myself  in 
want  of  money.  I  went  to  the  bazaar,  and  inquired  for  a 
dealer  in  precious  stones.  The  richest,  I  was  told,  was 
Mansour;  the  most  honest,  Ali,  the  jeweler.  I  applied  to 
AU. 

"He  welcomed  me  as  a  son,  as  soon  as  he  learned  that  I 
had  diamonds  to  sell,  and  carried  me  home  with  him.  He 
gained  my  confidence  by  every  kind  of  attention,  and  ad- 
vanced me  all  the  money  I  needed.  One  day,  after  dinner, 
at  which  wine  was  not  wanting,  he  examined  the  diamonds, 
one  by  one,  and  said,  'My  child,  these  diamonds  are  of 
little  value;  my  coffers  are  full  of  such  stones.  The  rocks 
of  the  desert  furnish  them  by  thousands.' 

"To  prove  the  truth  of  what  he  said,  he  opened  a  box, 
and,  taking  therefrom  a  diamond  thrice  as  large  as  any  of 
mine,  gave  it  to  the  slave  that  was  with  me.  'What  will 
become  of  me?'  I  cried;  'I  thought  myself  rich,  and  here 
I  am,  poor,  and  a  stranger.' 


SIXTH  READER.  271 

"'My  cliild,'  replied  Ali,  'Leave  this  casket  witli  me, 
and  I  will  give  you  a  price  for  it  such  as  no  one  else 
would  offer.  Choose  whatever  you  wish  in  Jidda,  and 
in  two  hours  I  will  give  you  an  equal  weight  of  what  you 
have  chosen  in  exchange  for  your  Indian  stones.' 

"On  returning  home,  night  brought  reflection.  I  learned 
that  Ali  had  been  deceiving  me.  What  he  had  given  to 
the  slave  was  nothing  but  a  bit  of  crystal.  I  demanded 
my  casket.  Ali  refused  to  restore  it.  Venerable  magis- 
trate, my  sole  hope  is  in  your  justice." 

It  was  now  All's  turn  to  speak.  "Illustrious  cadi,"  said 
he,  "It  is  true  that  we  made  a  bargain,  which  I  am  ready 
to  keep.  The  rest  of  the  young  man's  story  is  false. 
What  matters  it  Avhat  I  gave  the  slave?  Did  I  force  the 
stranger  to  leave  the  casket  in  my  hands?  Why  does  he 
accuse  me  of  treachery?  Have  I  broken  my  word,  and 
has  he  kept  his  ? " 

"Young  man,"  said  the  cadi  to  the  Banian,  "have  you 
witnesses  to  prove  that  Ali  deceived  you?  If  not,  I  shall 
put  the  accused  on  his  oath,  as  the  law  decrees."  A 
Koran  was  brought.  Ali  placed  his  hand  on  it,  and  swore 
three  times  that  he  had  not  deceived  the  stranger. 
"Wretch,"  said  the  Banian,  "thou  art  among  those  whose 
feet  go  down  to  destruction.  Thou  hast  thrown  away  thy 
soul." 

Omar  smiled,  and  while  Ali  was  enjoying  the  success  of 
his  ruse,  he  approached  the  stranger,  and  asked,  "  Do  you 
wish  me  to  help  you  gain  the  suit?"  "Yes,"  was  the 
reply;    "but   you  are  only  a  child  —  you  can  do  nothing." 

"Have  confidence  in  me  a  few  moments,"  said  Omar; 
"accept  All's  bargain;  let  me  choose  in  your  stead,  and 
fear  nothing." 

The  stranger  bowed  his  head,  and  murmured,  "What 
can  I  fear  after  having  lost  all?"  Then,  turning  to  the 
cadi,  and  bowing  respectfully j  "Let  the  bargain  be  con- 
summated," said  he,  "since  the  law  decrees  it,  and  let  this 


272  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

young  man  choose  in  my  stead  what  I  shall  receive  in 
payment." 

A  profound  silence  ensued.  Omar  rose^  and,  bowing  to 
the  cadi,  "Ali,"  said  he  to  the  jeweler,  "you  have  doubt- 
less brought  the  casket,  and  can  tell  us  the  weight 
thereof." 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Ali;  "it  weighs  twenty  pounds. 
Choose  what  you  will ;  if  the  thing  asked  for  is  in 
Jidda,  you  shall  have  it  within  two  hours,  otherwise  the 
bargain  is  null  and  void." 

"What  we  desire,"  said  Omar,  raising  his  voice,  "is 
ants'  wings,  half  male  and  half  female.  You  have  two 
hours  in  which  to  furnish  the  twenty  pounds  you  have 
promised  us."  "This  is  absurd,"  cried  the  jeweler;  "it  is 
impossible.  I  should  need  half  a  score  of  persons  and  six 
months  labor  to  satisfy  so  foolish  a  demand." 

"Are  there  any  winged  ants  in  Jidda?"  asked  the 
cadi.  "Of  course,"  answered  the  merchants,  laughing; 
"they  are  one  of  the  j)lagues  of  Egypt.  Our  houses  are 
full  of  them,  and  it  would  be  doing  us  a  great  service  to 
rid  us  of  them." 

' '  Then  Ali  must  keep  his  promise  or  give  back  the 
casket,"  said  the  cadi.  "This  young  man  was  mad  to  sell 
his  diamonds  weight  for  weight ;  he  is  mad  to  exact  such 
payment.  So  much  the  better  for  Ali  the  first  time:  so 
much  the  worse  for  him  the  second.  Justice  has  not  two 
weights  and  measures.  Every  bargain  holds  good  before 
the  law.  Either  furnish  twenty  pounds  of  ants'  wings,  or 
restore  the  casket  to  the  Banian."  "A  righteous  judg- 
ment," shouted  the  spectators,  wonder-struck  at  such 
equity. 

The  stranger,  beside  himself  with  joy,  took  from  the 
casket  three  diamonds  of  the  finest  water;  he  forced  them 
on  Omar,  who  put  them  in  his  girdle,  and  seated  himself 
by  his  father,  his  gravity  unmoved  by  the  gaze  of  the  as- 
sembly.    "Well   done,"  said   Mansour;    but  it  is  my  turn 


SIXTH  READER.  273 

now;  mark  me  well,  and  profit  by  the  lesson  I  shall  give 
you.  "Stop,  young  man!"  he  cried  to  the  Banian,  "we 
have  an  account  to  settle." 

"The  day  before  yesterday,"  continued  he,  "this  young 
man  entered  my  shop,  and,  bursting  into  tears,  kissed  my 
hand  and  entreated  me  to  sell  him  a  necklace  which  I  had 
already  sold  to  the  Pasha  of  Egypt,  saying  that  his  life 
and  that  of  a  lady  depended  upon  it.  'Ask  of  me  what 
you  will,  my  father,'  said  he,  '  but  I  must  have  these 
gems  or  die.' 

"I  have  a  weakness  for  young  men,  and,  though  I  knew 
the  danger  of  disappointing  my  master  the  pasha,  I  was 
unable  to  resist  his  supplications.  '  Take  the  necklace,' 
said  I  to  him,  '  but  promise  to  give  whatever  I  may  ask  in 
exchange.'  'My  head  itself,  if  you  will,'  he  replied,  'for 
you  have  saved  my  life.'  We  Avere  without  witnesses, 
but,"  added  Mansour,  turning  to  the  Banian,  "is  not  my 
story  true?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  "and  I  beg  your  pardon 
for  not  having  satisfied  you  sooner:  you  know  the  cause. 
Ask  of  me  what  you  desire." 

"What  I  desire,"  said  Mansour,  "is  the  casket  with  all 
its  contents.  Illustrious  magistrate,  you  have  declared  tha# 
all  bargains  hold  good  before  the  law ;  this  young  man  has 
promised  to  give  me  what  I  please;  now  I  declare  that 
nothing  pleases  me  but  these  diamonds." 

The  cadi  raised  his  head  and  looked  about  the  assembly, 
as  if  to  interrogate  the  faces,  then  stroked  his  beard,  and 
relapsed  into  his  meditations. 

"  Ali  is  defeated,"  said  the  sheik  to  Omar,  with  a  smile. 
"The  fox  is  not  yet  born  more  cunning  than  the  worthy 
Mansour." 

"I  am  lost!"  cried  the  Banian.  "O  Omar,  have  you 
saved  me  only  to  cast  me  down  from  the  highest  pinnacle 
of  joy  to  the  depths  of  despair?  Persuade  your  father  to 
spare  me,  that  I  may  owe  my  life  to  you  a  second  time." 


274  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

"Well,  my  son,"  said  Mansour,  "doubtless  you  are 
shrewd,  but  this  will  teach  you  that  your  father  knows 
rather  more  than  you  do.  The  cadi  is  about  to  decide: 
try  whether  you  can  dictate  his  decree. 

"It  is  mere  child's  play,"  answered  Omar,  shrugging  his 
shoulders;  "but  since  you  desire  it,  my  father,  you  shall 
lose  your  suit."  He  rose,  and  taking  a  piaster  from  his 
girdle,  put  it  into  the  hand  of  the  Banian,  who  laid  it  be- 
fore the  judge. 

"Illustrious  cadi,"  said  Omar,  "this  young  man  is  ready 
to  fulfill  his  engagement.  This  is  what  he  offers  Mansoui- — 
a  piaster.  In  itself  this  coin  is  of  little  value;  but  ex- 
amine it  closely,  and  you  will  see  that  it  is  stamjied  with 
the  likeness  of  the  sultan,  our  glorious  master.  May  God 
destroy  and  confound  all  who  disobey  his  highness! 

"It  is  this  precious  likeness  that  we  offer  you,"  added 
he,  turning  to  Mansour ;  "  if  it  pleases  you,  you  are  paid ; 
to  say  that  it  displeases  you  is  an  insult  to  the  pasha,  a 
crime  punishable  by  death;  and  I  am  sure  that  our  worthy 
cadi  will  not  become  your  accomplice  —  he  who  has  always 
been  and  always  will  be  the  faithful  servant  of  all  the 
sultans." 

When  Omar  had  finished  speaking,  all  eyes  turned 
toward  the  cadi,  who,  more  impenetrable  than  ever,  stroked 
his  face  and  waited  for  the  old  man  to  come  to  his  aid. 
Mansour  was  agitated  and  embarrassed.  The  silence  of 
the  cadi  and  the  assembly  terrified  him,  and  he  cast  a  sup- 
plicating glance  toward  his  son. 

"My  father,"  said  Omar,  "permit  this  young  man  to 
thank  you  for  the  lesson  of  prudence  which  you  have 
given  him  by  frightening  him  a  little.  He  knows  well  that' 
it  was  you  who  sent  me  to  his  aid,  and  that  all  this  is  a 
farce.  No  one  is  deceived  by  hearing  the  son  oppose  the 
father,  and  who  has  ever  doubted  Mansour's  experience  and 
generosity  ?  " 

"No  one,"  interrupted  the  cadi,  starting  up  like  a  man 


SIXTH  READER.  275 

suddenly  awakened  from  a  dream,  "and  I  least  of  all;  and 
this  is  why  I  have  permitted  you  to  speak,  my  young  Sol- 
omon. I  wished  to  honor  in  you  the  wisdom  of  your 
father;  but  another  time  avoid  meddling  with  his  high- 
ness's  name;  it  is  not  safe  to  sjiort  with  the  lion's  paws. 
The  matter  is  settled.  The  necklace  is  worth  a  hundred 
thousand  piasters,  is  it  not,  Mansour?  This  madcap,  shall 
give  you,  therefore,  a  hundred  thousand  piasters,  and  all 
parties  will  be  satisfied." 

Notes. — A  cadi  in  the  Mohammedan  countries,  corre- 
sponds to  our  magistrate. 

A  sheik  among  the  Arabs  and  Moors,  may  mean  simply 
an  old  man,  or,  as  in  this  case,  a  man  of  eminence. 

A  Banian  is  a  Hindoo  merchant,  particularly  one  who 
visits  foreign  countries  on  business. 

Jidda  is  a  city  in  Arabia,  on  the  Red  Sea. 

A  pasha  is  the  governor  of  a  Turkish  province. 

The  Turkish  piaster  was  formerly  worth  twenty-five  cents: 
it  is  now  worth  only  about  eight  cents. 


LXXV.    THANATOPSIS. 

To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language:  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty;  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a  mild 
And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware. 

When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 


276  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Of  tlie  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 
And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart; — 
Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around  ^ — 
Earth  and  her  Avaters,  and  the  depths  of  air^ 
Comes  a  still  voice, — 

Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears. 
Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again; 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  for  ever  with  the  elements; 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  Avhich  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mold. 

Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world, — with  Icings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth, —  the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, — 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulcher. 

The  hills, 
Eock-ribbed,  and  ancient  as  the  sun;  the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between; 
The  venerable  woods;  rivers  that  move 


SIXTH  READER.  277 

In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks, 

That  make  the  meadows  green;  and,  poured  round  all, 

Old  Ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — 

Ai-e  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 

Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.     The  golden  sun, 

The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 

Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 

Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages. 

All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.     Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  pierce  the  Barcan  wilderness, 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings, —  yet  the  dead  are  there: 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep, —  the  dead  reign  there  alone. 

So  shalt  thou  rest;  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure?     All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men  — 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid. 
The  speechless  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man  — 
Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side 
By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 


278  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  which  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death. 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

— Bryant. 

Notes. — Thanatopsis  is  composed  of  two  Greek  words, 
ddvatoi  (thanatos),  meaning  death,  and  oi/'tj  (oi^sis),  a  view.  The 
word,  therefore,  signifies  a  view  of  death,  or  reflections  on  death. 

Barca  is  in  the  north-eastern  part  of  Africa:  the  southern 
and  eastern  portions  of  the  country  are  a  barren  desert. 

The  Oregon  (or  Columbia)  River  is  the  most  important 
river  of  the  United  States,  emjitying  into  the  Pacific.  The 
Lewis  and  Clarke  Expedition  (1803-1806)  had  first  explored 
the  country  through  which  it  flows  only  five  years  before  the 
poem  was  written. 


LXXVI.    INDIAN   JUGGLERS. 

■William  Hazlitt,  177.S-1830.  This  English  author,  whose  father  was  a 
Unitarian  clergj-nian,  was  sent  to  a  college  of  that  denomination  to  be 
educated  for  the  ministry;  but  having  a  greater  taste  for  art  than 
theology,  he  resolved,  on  leaving  .school,  to  devote  himself  to  painting. 
He  succeeded  so  well  in  his  eflbrts  as  to  ineet  the  warmest  commenda- 
tion of  his  friends,  taut  did  not  succeed  in  satisfying  his  own  fa-stidious 
taste.  On  this  account  he  threw  away  his  pencil,  and  took  up  his  pen. 
His  works,  though  numerous,  are,  with  the  exception  of  a  life  of 
Napoleon,  chiefly  criticisms  on  literature  and  art. 

Hazlitt  is  thought  to  have  treated  his  contemporaries  with  an  unjust 
severity;  but  his  genial  appreciation  of  the  English  classics,  and  the 
thorough  and  loving  manner  in  which  he  discus.ses  their  merits,  make 
his  essays  the  delight  of  every  lover  of  those  perpetual  well-springs  of 
intellectual  pleasure.  His  "Table  Talk,"  "Characters  of  Shakespeare's 
Plays,"  "  Lectures  on  the  English  Poets,"  and  "  Lectures  on  the  Literature 
of  the  Elizabethan  Age,"  are  the  works  that  exhibit  his  style  and  general 
merits  in  their  most  favorable  light. 


SIXTH  READER.  279 

Coming  forward  and  seating  himself  on  the  ground,  in 
his  white  dress  and  tightened  turban,  the  chief  of  the 
Indian  jugglers  begins  with  tossing  up  two  brass  balls, 
which  is  what  any  of  us  could  do,  and  concludes  by  keep- 
ing up  four  at  the  same  time,  which  is  what  none  of  us 
could  do  to  save  our  lives,  not  if  we  were  to  take  our 
whole  lives  to  do  it  in. 

Is  it  then  a  trifling  power  we  see  at  work,  or  is  it  not 
something  next  to  miraculous?  It  is  the  utmost  stretch  of 
human  ingenuity,  which  nothing  but  the  bending  the  fac- 
ulties of  body  and  mind  to  it  from  the  tenderest  infancy 
with  incessant,  ever-anxious  application  up  to  manhood,  can 
accomplish  or  make  even  a  slight  approach  to.  Man,  thou 
art  a  wonderful  animal,  and  thy  ways  past  finding  out ! 
Thou  canst  do  strange  things,  but  thou  turnest  them  to 
small  account ! 

To  conceive  of  this  extraordinary  dexterity,  distracts  the 
imagination  and  makes  admiration  breathless.  Yet  it  costs 
nothing  to  the  performer,  any  more  than  if  it  Avere  a  mere 
mechanical  deception  with  which  he  had  nothing  to  do,  but 
to  watch  and  laugh  at  the  astonishment  of  the  spectators. 
A  single  error  of  a  hair's  breadth,  of  the  smallest  conceiv- 
able portion  of  time,  would  be  fatal ;  the  precision  of  the 
movements  must  be  like  a  mathematical  truth;  their 
rapidity  is  like  lightning. 

To  catch  four  balls  in  succession,  in  less  than  a  second 
of  time,  and  deliver  them  back  so  as  to  return  with  seem- 
ing consciousness  to  the  hand  again ;  to  make  them  revolve 
around  him  at  certain  intervals,  like  the  planets  in  their 
spheres;  to  make  them  chase  each  other  like  sparkles  of 
fire,  or  shoot  up  like  flowers  or  meteors;  to  throw  them 
behind  his  back,  and  twine  them  round  his  neck  like  rib- 
bons, or  like  serpents;  to  do  what  api^ears  an  impossibility, 
and  to  do  it  with  all  the  ease,  the  grace,  the  carelessness 
imaginable ;  to  laugh  at,  to  play  with  the  glittering  mock- 
eries, to  follow  them  with  his  eye  as  if  he  could  fascinate 


280  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

them  with  its  lambent  fire,  or  as  if  he  had  only  to  see  that 
they  kept  time  with  the  music  on  the  stage  —  there  is  some-  • 
thing  in  all  this  which  he  Avho  does  not  admire  may  be 
quite  sure  he  never  really  admired  any  thing  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  life.  It  is  skill  surmounting  difficulty,  and 
beauty  triumphing  over  skill.  It  seems  as  if  the  difficulty, 
once  mastered,  naturally  resolved  itself  into  ease  and  grace, 
and  as  if,  to  be  overcome  at  all,  it  must  be  overcome  with- 
out an  effort.  The  smallest  awkwardness  or  want  of 
pliancy  or  self-possession  would  stop  the  whole  process.  It 
is  the  work  of  witchcraft,  and  yet  sport  for  children. 

Some  of  the  other  feats  are  quite  as  curious  and  wonder- 
ful—  such  as  the  balancing  the  artificial  tree,  and  shooting 
a  bird  from  each  branch  through  a  quill  —  though  none  of 
them  have  the  elegance  or  facility  of  the  keeping  up  of 
the  brass  balls.  You  are  in  pain  for  the  result,  and  glad 
when  the  experiment  is  over;  they  are  not  accompanied 
with  the  same  unmixed,  unchecked  delight  as  the  former; 
and  I  would  not  give  much  to  be  merely  astonished  with- 
out being  pleased  at  the  same  time.  As  to  the  swallowing 
of  the  sword,  the  police  ought   to  interfere  to  prevent   it. 

When  I  saw  the  Indian  juggler  do  the  same  things  be- 
fore, his  feet  were  bare,  and  he  had  large  rings  on  his  toes, 
which  he  kept  turning  round  all  the  time  of  the  perform- 
ance, as  if  they  moved  of  themselves. 

The  hearing  a  speech  in  Parliament  drawled  or  stam- 
mered out  by  the  honorable  member  or  the  noble  lord,  the 
ringing  the  changes  on  their  commonplaces,  which  any  one 
could  repeat  after  them  as  well  as  they,  stirs  me  not  a  jot, — 
shakes  not  my  good  opinion  of  myself  I  ask  what  there  . 
is  that  I  can  do  as  well  as  this.  Nothing.  What  have  I 
been  doing  all  my  life?  Have  I  been  idle,  or  have  I 
nothing  to  show  for  all  my  labor  and  pains?  Or  have  I 
passed  my  time  in  pouring  words  like  water  into  empty 
sieves,  rolling  a  stone  up  a  hill  and  then  down  again,  try- 
ing to  prove  an  argument  in  the  teeth  of  facts,  and  looking 


SIXTH  nEADER.  281 

for  causes  in  the  dark,  and  not  finding  them?  Is  there  no 
one  thing  in  which  I  can  challenge  competition,  that  I  can 
bring  as  an  instance  of  exact  perfection,  in  which  others 
can  not  find  a  flaw? 

The  utmost  I  can  pretend  to  is  to  write  a  description  of 
what  this  fellow  can  do.  I  can  write  a  book :  so  can  many 
others  who  have  not  even  learned  to  spell.  What  abortions 
are  these  essays!  What  errors,  what  ill-i:)ieced  transitions, 
Avhat  crooked  reasons,  what  lame  conclusions!  How  little 
is  made  out,  and  that  little  how  ill !  Yet  they  are  the 
best  I  can  do. 

I  endeavor  to  recollect  all  I  have  ever  heard  or  thought 
upon  a  subject,  and  to  express  it  as  neatly  as  I  can. 
Instead  of  writing  on  four  subjects  at  a  time,  it  is  as  much 
as  I  can  manage,  to  keep  the  thread  of  one  discourse  clear 
and  unen tangled.  I  have  also  time  on  my  hands  to  correct 
my  opinions  and  polish  my  periods;  but  the  one  I  can  not, 
and  the  other  I  will  not,  do.  I  am  fond  of  arguing;  yet, 
with  a  good  deal  of  pains  and  practice,  it  is  often  much  as 
I  can  do  to  beat  my  man,  though  he  may  be  a  very  in- 
different hand.  A  common  fencer  would  disarm  his  adver- 
sary in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  unless  he  were  a  professor 
like  himself.  A  stroke  of  wit  will  sometimes  produce  this 
effect,  but  there  is  no  such  power  or  superiority  in  sense  or 
reasoning.  There  is  no  complete  mastery  of  execution  to 
be  shown  there;  and  you  hardly  know  the  professor  from 
the  impudent  pretender  or  the  mere  clown. 


LXXVII.  ANTONY  OVER  CESAR'S  DEAD  BODY. 

Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears; 
I  come  to  bury  Csesar,  not  to  praise  him. 
The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them ; 
The  good  is  often  interred  with  their  bones; 

6.-24. 


282  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

So  let  it  be  with  Caesar.     The  noble  Brutus 
Hath  told  you  Csesar  was  ambitious: 
If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault, 
And  grievously  hath  Csesar  answered  it. 
Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus  and  the  rest — 
For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man; 
So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men — 
Come  I  to  speak  in  Csesar's  funeral. 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me: 

But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 

Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill: 

Did  this  in  Csesar  seem  ambitious? 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Csesar  hath  wept: 

Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff: 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

You  all  did  see,  that  on  the  Lupercal, 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown. 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition? 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious; 

And,  sure,  he  is  an  honorable  man, 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 

You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause; 

What  cause  withholds  you,  then,  to  mourn  for  him  ? 

O  judgment !  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason.     Bear  with  me; 

My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Csesar, 

And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

But  yesterday  the  word  of  Csesar  might 

Have  stood  against  the  world;  now  lies  he  there, 


SIXTH  READER.  283 

And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  masters!  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 

Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men: 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong;  I  rather  choose 
To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself  and  you. 
Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men. 

But  here's  a  parchment  with  the  seal  of  Csesar; 

I  found  it  in  his  closet ;  't  is  his  will : 

Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament  — 

Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read  — 

And  they  Avould  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds. 

And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood; 

Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory. 

And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 

Bequeathing  it  as  a  rich  legacy 

Unto  their  issue. 
Citizen.  We'll  hear  the  will:  read  it,  Mark  Antony. 
All.    The  will,  the  will;  we  will  hear  Caesar's  will. 
Ant.  Have  patience,  gentle  friends,  I  must  not  read  it; 

It  is  not  meet  you  know  how  Csesar  loved  you. 

You  are  not  wood,  you  are  not  stones,  but  men; 

And,  being  men,  hearing  the  will  of  Csesar, 

It  will  inflame  you,  it  will  make  you  mad; 

'Tis  good  you  know  not  that  you  are  his  heirs; 

For,  if  you  should.  Oh  Avhat  would  come  of  it! 
Oil.    Read  the  will;  we'll  hear  it,  Antony; 

You  shall  read  the  will,  Csesar's  will. 
Ant.  Will  you  be  patient?     Will  you  stay  awhile? 

I  have  o'ershot  myself  to  tell  you  of  it : 

I  fear  I  wrong  the  honorable  men 

Whose  daggers  have  stabbed  Csesar.     I  do  fear  it. 
Cit.    They  were  traitors :  honorable  men ! 
All.    The  will!  the  testament! 


284  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Ant.  You  will  compel  me,  then,  to  read  the  will? 
Then  make  a  ring  about  the  corpse  of  Csesar, 
And  let  me  show  you  him  that  made  the  will. 

(5e  comes  doivn  from  the  pulpit.) 

If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 

You  all  do  know  this  mantle:  I  remember 

The  first  time  ever  Csesar  put  it  on; 

'Twas  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent, 

That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii: 

Look!  in  this  place,  ran  Cassiiis'  dagger  through: 

See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made: 

Through  this,  the  well  beloved  Brutus  stabbed ; 

And,  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 

Mark  how  the  blood  of  Csesar  followed  it, 

As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolved 

If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knocked,  or  no; 

For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel: 

Judge,  O  you  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  loved  him! 


This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all ; 

For,  Avhen  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 

Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 

Quite  vanquished  him:    then  burst  his  mighty  heart; 

And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face. 

Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statua, 

Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Csesar  fell. 

Oh,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen ! 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down. 
Whilst  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us. 
Oh,  now  you  weep;  and,  I  perceive,  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity :  these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kind  souls,  what,  weep  you  when  you  but  behold 


Ut 

at. 

2cl 

at. 

Bd 

at. 

All. 

Ani 

f 

1st  Git. 

2d 

at. 

SIXTH  HEADER.  285 

Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded  ?     Look  you  here, 

Here  is  himself,  marred,  as  you  see,  with  traitors. 

0  piteous  spectacle ! 

O  noble  Caesar ! 

We  will  be  revenged ! 

Revenge !     About !     Seek !     Burn !     Fire ! 

Kill !     Slay  !     Let  not  a  traitor  live. 

Stay,  countrymen. 

Peace  there!  hear  the  noble  Antony. 

We'll  hear  him,  we'll  follow  him,  we'll  die  with 
him. 
Ant.  Good  friends,  sweet  friends,  let  me  not  stir  you  up 
To  such  a  suddeu  flood  of  mutiny. 
They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honorable: 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas,  I  know  not. 
That  made  them  do  it ;   they  are  wise  and  honorable, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 

I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts: 
I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is ; 
But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain,  blunt  man, 
That  love  ray  friend ;  and  that  they  know  full  well 
That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him: 
For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech. 
To  stirs  men's  blood :  I  only  speak  right  on : 
I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know; 
Show   you  sweet   Caesar's   wounds,    poor,   poor,   dumb 

mouths, 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me :  but  were  I  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 
Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 
In  every  wound  of  Ciesar,  that  should  move 
The  atones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 

Shakespeare. — Julius  Gcesar,  Act  Hi,  Scene  ii. 


286  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Notes. — Gaius  Julius  Caesar  (b.  102,  d.  44  B.C.)  was  the 
most  remarkable  genius  of  the  ancient  world.  Caesar  ruled 
Rome  as  imperator  five  years  and  a  half,  and,  in  the  intervals 
of  seven  campaigns  during  that  time,  spent  only  fifteen  months 
in  Rome.  Under  his  rule  Rome  was  probably  at  her  best,  and 
his  murder  at  once  produced  a  state  of  anarchy. 

The  conspirators  against  Csesar  —  among  whom  were  Brutus, 
Oassius  and  Oasca  —  professed  to  be  moved  by  honest  zeal 
for  the  good  of  Rome;  but  their  own  ambition  was  no  doubt 
the  true  motive,  except  with  Brutus. 

Mark  Antony  was  a  strong  friend  of  Julius  Csesar.  Upon 
the  latter's  death,  Antony,  by  his  funeral  oration,  incited  the 
people  and  drove  the  conspirators  from  Rome. 

The  Lupercal  was  a  festival  of  purification  and  expiation 
held  in  Rome  on  the  15th  of  February.  Antony  was  officiating 
as  priest  at  this  festival  when  he  offered  the  crown  to  Caesar. 

In  his  "will  Coesar  left  to  every  citizen  of  Rome  a  sum  of 
money,  and  bequeathed  his  private  gardens  to  the  public. 

The  Nervii  were  one  of  the  most  warlike  tribes  of  Celtic 
Gaul.     Caesar  almost  annihilated  them  in  57  B.  C. 

Pompey,  once  associated  with  Caesar  in  the  government  of 
Rome,  was  afterwards  at  war  with  him.  He  was  murdered  by 
those  who  thovight  to  propitiate  Caesar,  but  the  latter  wept 
when  Pompey's  head  was  sent  to  him,  and  had  the  murderers 
put  to  death. 

Statua  is  the  Latin  form  of  statue,  in  common  use  in 
Shakespeare's  time;  this  form  is  rec^uired  here  by  the  meter. 


LXXVin.    THE   ENGLISH    CHARACTER. 


William  Hickling  Prescott,  1790-1859,  the  historian,  was  the  son  of 
William  Pi-escott,  an  eminent  jui'ist,  and  the  grandson  of  Col.  William 
Prescott,  who  commanded  the  Americans  at  the  hattle  of  Bunker  Hill. 
He  was  born  in  Salem,  Massachusetts,  graduated  at  flarvard  University 
in  1814,  and  died  in  Boston.  Just  as  he  was  completing  his  college  course, 
the  careless  sport  of  a  fellow-student  injured  one  of  his  eyes  so  seriously 
that  he  never  recovered  from  it.  He  had  intended  to  atlopt  law  as  his 
profession;  but,  from  his  defective  eyesight,  he  was  obliged  to  choose 
work  in  which  he  could  regulate  his  hours  of  labor,  and  could  employ 
the  aid  of  a  secretary.    He  chose  to  be  a  historian;  and  followed  his 


SIXTH  HEADER.  287 

choice  with  wonflcrfnl  system,  perseverance,  and  success  till  the  close  of 
his  liCe.  His  works  are:  "Tlie  Reign  of  Ferdinand  and  Isaliella,"  "The 
Conciuest  of  Mexico,"  "  The  Conquest  of  Peru,"  "The  Reign  of  IMiilip  11.," 
and  a  volume  of  "Miscellanies."  He  had  not  completed  the  history  of 
Philip  at  the  time  of  his  death.  As  a  writer  of  history,  Mr.  Prescolt 
ranks  with  the  tirst  for  accuracy,  precision, clearness,  and  beauty  of  style. 
As  a  man,  he  was  genial,  kind-hearted  and  even-tempered. 

On  the  whole,  what  I  have  seen  raises  my  preconceived 
estimate  of  the  English  character.  It  is  full  of  generous, 
true,  and  manly  qualities;  and  I  doubt  if  there  ever  was 
so  high  a  standard  of  morality  in  an  aristocracy  whicli  has 
such  means  for  self-indulgence  at  its  command,  and  which 
occupies  a  position  that  secures  it  so  much  deference.  In 
general,  they  do  not  seem  to  abuse  their  great  advantages. 
The  respect  for  religion  —  at  least  for  the  forms  of  it  —  is 
universal,  and  there  are  few,  I  imagine,  of  the  great  pro- 
prietors who  are  not  more  or  less  occupied  with  improving 
their  estates,  and  with  providing  for  the  comfort  of  their 
tenantry,  while  many  take  a  leading  part  in  the  great 
political  movements^f  the  time.  There  never  was  an  aris- 
tocracy wdiich  combined  so  much  practical  knowledge  and 
industry  with  the  advantages  of  exalted  rank. 

The  Englishman  is  seen  to  most  advantage  in  his  country 
home.  For  he  is  constitutionally  both  domestic  and  rural 
in  his  habits.  His  fireside  and  his  farm  —  these  are  the 
places  in  which  one  sees  his  simple  and  warm-hearted 
nature  more  freely  unfolded.  There  is  a  shyness  in  an 
Englishman, — a  natural  reserve,  which  makes  him  cold 
to  strangers,  and  difficult  to  approach.  But  once  corner 
him  in  his  own  house,  a  frank  and  full  expansion  will  be 
given  to  his  feelings  that  we  should  Ibok  for  in  vain  in  the 
colder  Yankee,  and  a  depth  not  be  found  in  the  light  and 
superficial  Frenchman,^ speaking  of  nationalities,'  not  of 
individualities.         ^/ ■  (^^^     /;     .J.'^L . 

The  Englishman  is  the  most  truly  rural  in  his  tastes  and 
habits  of  any  people  in  the  world.  I  am  speaking  of  the 
higher    classes.     The   aristocracy  of   other   countries   affect 


288  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

the  camp  and  the  city.  But  the  English  love  their  old 
castles  and  country-seats  with  a  patriotic  love.  They  are 
fond  of  country  sports.  Every  man  shoots  or  hunts.  No 
man  is  too  old  to  be  in  the  saddle  some  part  of  the  day, 
and  men  of  seventy  years  and  more  follow  the  hounds,  and 
take  a  five-barred  gate  at  a  leap.  The  women  are  good 
whips,  are  fond  0/  horses  and  dogs,  and  other  animals. 
Duchesses  have  their  cows,  their  poultry,  their  pigs, —  all 
Avatched  over  and  provided  with  accommodations  of  Dutch- 
like neatness.  All  this  is  characteristic  of  the  people.  It 
may  be  thought  to  detract  something  from  the  feminine 
graces  which  in  other  lands  make  a  woman  so  amiably  de- 
pendent as  to  be  nearly  imbecile.  But  it  produces  a 
healthy  and  blooming  race  of  women  to  match  the  hardy 
Englishman, —  the  finest  development  of  the  physical  and 
moral  nature  which  the  world  has  witnessed.  For  Ave  are 
not  to  look  on  the  English  gentleman  as  a  mere  Nimrod. 
With  all  his  relish  for  field  sports  and  country  usages,  he 
has  his  house  filled  Avith  collections  of  art  and  with  exten- 
sive libraries.  The  tables  of  the  drawing-rooms  are  covered 
AA'ith  the  latest  Avorks,  sent  doAvn  by  the  London  publisher. 
Every  guest  is  provided  Avith  an  apparatus  for  writing,  and 
often  a  little  library  of  books  for  his  OAvn  amusement.  The 
English  country -gentleman  of  the  present  day  is  any  thing 
but  a  Squire  Western,  though  he  does  retain  all  his  relish 
for  field  sports. 

The  character  of  an  Englishman,  under  its  most  refined 
aspect,  has  some  disagreeable  points  Avhich  jar  unpleasantly 
on  the  foreigner  not  accustomed  to  them.  The  conscious- 
ness of  national  supeiiority,  combined  AA'ith  natural  feelings 
of  independence,  giA'^es  him  an  air  of  arrogance,  though  it 
must  be  oAvned  that  this  is  never  betrayed  in  his  OAvn 
house, — I  may  almost  say  in  his  oaa'u  country.  But 
abroad,  Avhen  he  seems  to  institute  a  comparison  between 
himself  and  the  people  he  is  throAvn  Avith,  it  becomes  so 
obA'ious  that  he  is  the  most  unpopular,  not  to  say  odious, 


SIXTH  READER.  289 

person  in  the  world.  Even  the  open  hand  with  which  he 
dispenses  his  bounty  will  not  atone  for  the  violence  he 
offers  to  national  vanity. 

There  are  other  defects,  which  are  visible  even  in  his 
most  favored  circumstances.  Such  is  his  bigotry,  surpass- 
ing every  thing,  in  a  quiet  passive  form,  that  has  been  wit- 
nessed since  the  more  active  bigotry  of  the  times  of  the 
Spanish  Philips.  Such,  too,  is  the  exclusive,  limited  range 
of  his  knowledge  and  conceptions  of  all  political  and  social 
topics  and  relations.  The  Englishman,  the  cultivated  En- 
glishman, has  no  standard  of  excellence  borrowed  from 
mankind.  His  speculation  never  travels  beyond  his  own 
little  —  great  little  —  island.  That  is  the  world  to  him. 
True,  he  travels,  shoots  lions  among  the  Hottentots,  chases 
the  grizzly  bear  over  the  Rocky  Mountains,  kills  elephants 
in  India  and  salmon  on  the  coast  of  Labrador,  comes 
home,  and  very  likely  makes  a  book.  But  the  scope  of  his 
ideas  does  not  seem  to  be  enlarged  by  all  this.  The  body 
travels,  not  the  mind.  And,  however  he  may  abuse  his 
own  land,  he  returns  home  as  hearty  a  John  Bull,  with  all 
his  prejudices  and  national  tastes  as  rooted,  as  before.  The 
English  —  the  men  of  fortune  —  all  travel.  Yet  how  little 
sympathy  they  show  for  other  jDeople  or  institutions,  and 
how  slight  is  the  interest  they  take  in  them !  They  are 
islanders,  cut  off  from  the  great  world.  But  their  island 
is,  indeed,  a  world  of  its  own.  With  all  their  faults, 
never  has  the  sun  shone  —  if  one  may  use  the  expression  in 
reference  to  England  —  on  a  more  noble  race,  or  one  that 
has  done  more  for  the  great  interests  of  humanity. 

Notes. — Nimrod  is  spoken  of  in  Genesis  (x.  9)  as  "a 
mighty  hunter."  Thus  the  name  came  to  be  applied  to  any 
one  devoted  to  hunting. 

Squire  Western  is  a  character  in  Fielding's  "Tom  Jones." 
He  is  represented  as  an  ignorant,  prejudiced,  irascible,  but, 
withal,  a  jolly,  good-humored  English  country  gentleman. 


290  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


LXXIX.     THE    SONG   OF    THE    POTTER. 

Turn,  turn,  my  wheel !     Turn  round  and  round, 
Without  a  pause,  without  a  sound: 

So  spins  the  flying  world  away! 
This  clay,  well  mixed  with  marl  and  sand, 
Follows  the  motion  of  my  hand; 
For  some  must  follow,  and  some  command, 

Though  all  are  made  of  clay ! 

Turn,  turn,  my  wheel!     All  things  must  change 
To  something  new,  to  something  strange; 

Nothing  that  is  can  pause  or  stay; 
The  moon  will  wax,  the  moon  will  wane. 
The  mist  and  cloud  will  turn  to  rain. 
The  rain  to  mist  and  cloud  again. 

To-morrow  be  to-day. 

Turn,  turn,  my  wheel!     All  life  is  brief; 
What  now  is  bud  will  soon  be  leaf. 

What  now  is  leaf  will  soon  decay; 
The  wind  blows  east,  the  wind  blows  west ; 
The  blue  eggs  in  the  robin's  nest 
Will  soon  have  wings  and  beak  and  breast. 

And  flutter  and  fly  away. 

Turn,  turn,  my  wheel !     This  earthern  jar 
A  touch  can  make,  a  touch  can  mar; 

And  shall  it  to  the  Potter  say. 
What  makest  thou?     Thou  hast  no  hand? 
As  men  who  think  to  understand 
A  world  by  their  Creator  planned, 

Who  wiser  is  than  they. 


SIXTH  READER.  291 

Turn,  turn,  my  wheel!     'Tis  nature's  plan 
The  child  should  grow  into  the  man, 

The  man  grow  wrinkled,  old,  and  gray; 
In  youth  the  heart  exults  and  sings, 
The  pulses  leap,  the  feet  have  wings ; 
In  age  the  cricket  chirps,  and  brings 

The  harvest  home  of  day. 

Turn,  turn,  ray  wheel!     The  human  race, 
Of  every  tongue,  of  every  place, 

Caucasian,  Coptic,  or  Malay, 
All  that  inhabit  this  great  earth, 
Whatever  be  their  rank  or  worth, 
Are  kindred  and  allied  by  birth. 

And  made  of  the  same  clay. 

Turn,  turn,  my  wheel!     What  is  begun 
At  daybreak  must  at  dark  be  done. 

To-morrow  will  be  another  day; 
To-morrow  the  hot  furnace  flame 
Will  search  the  heart  and  try  the  frame. 
And  stamp  with  honor  or  with  shame 

These  vessels  made  of  clay. 

Stop,  stop,  my  wheel!     Too  soon,  too  soon 
The  noon  will  be  the  afternoon. 

Too  soon  to-day  be  yesterday; 
Behind  us  in  our  jmth  we  cast 
The  broken  potsherds  of  the  past,- 
And  all  are  ground  to  dust  at  last, 

And  trodden  into  clay. 

— Longfellow. 

Note. — Coptic  was  formerly  the  language  of  Egyp£,  and  is 
preserved  in  the  inscriptions  of  the  ancient  monuments  found 
there;  it  has  now  given  place  entirely  to  Arabic. 


292  ECLECTIC   SERIES. 


LXXX.    A   HOT    DAY   IN    NEW  YORK. 

"William    Dean    Howells,    1837 ,  was  born  in  Belmont   County) 

Ohio.  In  boyhood  he  learned  the  printer's  tradfe,  at  which  he  worked 
for  several  years.  He  published  a  volume  of  poems  in  1860,  in  connec- 
tion with  John  J.  Piatt.  From  1861  to  1865  he  was  United  States  Consul 
at  Venice.  On  his  return  he  resided  for  a  time  in  New  York  City,  and 
was  one  of  the  editors  of  the  "  Nation."  In  1871  he  was  appointed 
editor-in-chief  of  the  "Atlantic  Monthly."  He  held  the  position  ten 
years,  and  then  retired  in  order  to  devote  himself  more  exclusively  to 
his  own  writings. 

Mr.  Howells  has  written  several  books,  novels  and  sketches:  his 
writings  are  marked  by  an  artistic  finish,  and  a  keen  but  subtile  humor. 
The  following  selection  is  an  extract  from  "  Their  Wedding  Journey." 

When  they  alighted,  they  took  their  way  up  through 
one  of  the  streets  of  the  great  wholesale  businesses,  to 
Broadway.  On  this  street  -yfas  a  throng  of  trucks  and 
wagons,  lading  and  unlading;  bales  and  boxes  rose  and 
sank  by  pulleys  overhead;  the  footway  Avas  a  labyrinth  of 
packages  of  every  shai:)e  and  size;  there  was  no  flagging  of 
the  pitiless  energy  that  moved  all  forward,  no  sign  of  how 
heavy  a  weight  lay  on  it,  save  in  the  reeking  faces  of  its 
helpless  instruments. 

It  was  four  o'clock,  the  deadliest  hour  of  the  deadly 
summer  day.  The  spiritless  air  seemed  to  have  a  quality 
of  blackness  in  it,  as  if  filled  with  the  gloom  of  low- 
hovering  wings.  One  half  the  street  lay  in  shadow,  and 
one  half  in  sun ;  but  the  sunshine  itself  Avas  dim,  as  if  a 
heat  greater  than  its  own  had  smitten  it  with  languor. 
Little  gusts  of  sick,  warm  wind  blew  across  the  great 
avenue  at  the  coniers  of  the  intersecting  streets.  Li  the 
upward  distance,  at  which  the  journeyers  looked,  the  loftier 
roofs  and  steeples  lifted  themselves  dim  out  of  the  livid 
atmosphere,  and  far  up  and  down  the  length  of  the  street 
swept  a  stream  of  tormented  life. 

All  sorts  of  Avheeled  things  thronged  it,  conspicuous 
among  which  rolled  and  jarred  the  gaudily  painted  stages, 
with  quivering  horses  driven  each  by  a  man  who  sat  in  the 
shade  of  a  branching,  white  umbrella,  and  suffered  with  a 


SIXTH  READER.  293 

moody  triiculence  of  aspect,  and  as  if  he  harbored  the 
bitterness  of  death  in  his  lieart  for  the  crowding  passengers 
within,  when  one  of  them  pulled  the  straji  about  his  legs, 
and  summoned  him  to  halt. 

Most  of  the  foot-passengers  kept  to  the  shady  side,  and 
to  the  unaccustomed  eyes  of  the  strangers  they  were  not 
less  in  number  than  at  any  other  time,  though  there  w'ere 
fewer  women  among  them.  Indomitably  resolute  of  soul, 
they  held  their  course  Avith  the  swift  pace  of  custom,  and 
only  here  and  there  they  showed  the  effect  of  the  heat. 

One  man,  collarless,  with  waistcoat  unbuttoned,  and  hat 
set  far  back  from  his  forehead,  Avaved  a  fan  before  his 
death-white,  flabby  face,  and  set  down  one  foot  after  the 
other  with  the  heaviness  of  a  somnambulist.  Another,  as 
they  passed  him,  was  saying  huskily  to  the  friend  at  his 
side,  "I  can't  stand  this  much  longer.  My  hands  tingle 
as  if  they  had  gone  to  sleep;  my  heart — "  But  still  the 
multitude  hurried  on,  passing,  repassing,  encountering, 
evading,  vanishing  into  shoj^-doors,  and  emerging  from 
them,  dispersing  down  the  side  streets,  and  swarming  out 
of  them. 

It  was  a  scene  that  possessed  the  beholder  wdth  singular 
fascination,  and  in  its  effect  of  universal  lunacy,  it  might 
well  have  seemed  the  last  phase  of  a  world  presently  to  be 
destroyed.  They  who  were  in  it,  but  not  of  it,  as  they 
fancied  —  though  there  was*  no  reason  for  this  —  looked  on 
it  amazed,  and  at  last  their  own  errands  being  accom- 
plished, and  themselves  so  far  cured  of  the  madness  of 
purpose,  they  cried  with  one  voice  that  it  was  a  hideous 
sight,  and  strove  to  take  refuge  from  it  in  the  nearest 
place  Avhere  the  soda-fountain  sparkled. 

It  w'as  a  vain  desire.  At  the  front  door  of  the  apoth- 
ecary's hung  a  thermometer,  and  as  they  entered  they 
heard  the  next  comer  cry  out  wdth  a  maniacal  pride  in  the 
affliction  laid  upon  mankind,  "Ninety-seven  degrees!"  Be- 
hind them,  at  the  door,  there  poured  in  a  ceaseless  stream 


294  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

of  peoi^le,  each  pausing  at  the  shrine  of  heat,  before  he 
tossed  off  the  hissing  draught  that  two  pale,  close-clipped 
boys  served  them  from  either  side  of  the  fountain.  Then, 
in  the  order  of  their  coming,  they  issued  through  another 
door  upon  the  side  street,  each,  as  he  disappeared,  turning 
his  face  half  round,  and  casting  a  casual  glance  upon  a 
little  group  near  another  counter. 

The  group  was  of  a  very  patient,  half-frightened,  half- 
puzzled  looking  gentleman  who  sat  perfectly  still  on  a 
stool,  and  of  a  lady  wdio  stood  beside  him,  rubbing  all 
over  his  head  a  handkerchief  full  of  pounded  ice,  and  eas- 
ing one  hand  with  the  other  when  the  first  became  tired. 
Basil  drank  his  soda,  and  paused  to  look  upon  this  group, 
which  he  felt  would  commend  itself  to  realistic  sculpture 
as  eminently  characteristic  of  the  local  life,  and,  as  "The 
Sun-stroke,"  would  sell  enormously  in  the  hot  season. 

"Better  take  a  little  more  of  that,"  the  apothecary  said, 
looking  up  from  his  prescrijition,  and,  as  the  organized 
sympathy  of  the  seemingly  indifferent  crowd,  smiling  very 
kindly  at  his  patient,  who  thereuj^on  tasted  something  in 
the  glass  he  held. 

"Do  you  still  feel  like  fainting?"  asked  the  humane 
authority.  "Slightly,  now'  and  then,"  answered  the  other, 
"but  I'm  hanging  on  hard  to  the  bottom  curve  of  that 
icicled  S  on  your  soda-fountain,  and  I  feel  that  I'm  all 
right  as  long  as  I  can  see  th'at.  The  people  get  rather 
hazy  occasionally,  and  have  no  features  to  speak  of.  But 
I  don't  know  that  I  look  very  impressive  myself,"  he 
added  in  the  jesting  mood  which  seems  the  natural  condi- 
tion of  Americans  in  the  face  of  all  embarrassments. 

"Oh,  you'll  do!"  the  apothecary  answered,  with  a  laugh; 
but  he  said,  in  an  answer  to  an  anxious  question  from  the 
lady,  "He  mustn't  be  moved  for  an  hour  yet,"  and  gayly 
pestled  away  at  a  prescrij^tion,  wdiile  she  resumed  her  office 
of  grinding  the  pounded  ice  round  and  round  upon  her 
husband's  skull.      Isabel  offered  her  the  commiseration  of 


I 


SIXTH  READER.  295 

friendly  words,  and  of  looks  kinder  yet,  and  then,  seeing 
that  they  could  do  nothing,  she  and  Basil  fell  into  the  end- 
less procession,  and  passed  out  of  the  side  door. 

"What  a  shocking  thing,"  she  Avhispered.  "Did  you 
see  how  all  the  people  looked,  one  after  another,  so  indif- 
ferently at  that  couple,  and  evidently  forgot  them  the  next 
instant?  It  was  dreadful.  I  shouldn't  like  to  have  you 
sun-struck  in  New  York." 

"That's  very  considerate  of  you;  but  place  for  place, 
if  any  accident  must  happen  to  me  among  strangers,  I 
think  I  should  prefer  to  have  it  in  New  York.  The  big- 
gest jjlace  is  always  the  kindest  as  well  as  the  crudest 
place.  Amongst  the  thousands  of  spectators  the  good 
Samaritan  as  well  as  the  Levite  would  be  sure  to  be.  As 
for  a  sun-stroke,  it  requires  peculiar  gifts.  But  if  you  com- 
pel me  to  a  choice  in  the  matter,  then  I  say  give  me  the 
busiest  part  of  Broadway  for  a  sun-stroke.  There  is  such 
experience  of  calamity  there  that  you  could  hardly  fall  the 
first  victim  to  any  misfortune." 


LXXXI.    DISCONTENT.— AN   ALLEGORY. 


Joseph  Addison,  1672-1719,  the  brilliant  essayist  and  poet,  has  long 
occupied  an  exalted  place  in  English  literature.  He  was  the  sou  of  an 
English  clergyman,  was  born  in  Wiltshire,  and  educated  at  Oxford;  he 
died  at  "  Holland  House ''  (the  property  of  his  wife,  to  whom  he  had  been 
married  but  about  two  years),  and  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey. 
Several  years  of  his  life  were  si>ent  in  the  political  affairs  of  his  time,  he 
held  several  public  offices,  and  was,  lor  ten  yeai-s,  a  member  of  Pai'lia- 
ment.  His  fame  a-s  an  author  rests  chiefly  upon  his  "  Hymns,"  his 
tragedy  of  "Cato,"  and  his  "  Essays  '  contributed  principally  to  the 
"Tatler"  and  the  "Spectator."  The  excellent  style  of  his  essays,  their 
genial  wit  and  sprightly  humor,  raade  them  conspicuous  in  an  age  when 
coarseness,  bitterness,  and  exaggeration  deformed  the  writings  of  the 
most  eminent;  and  these  characteristics  have  given  them  an  unques- 
tioned place  among  the  classics  of  our  language. 

Mr.  Addison  was  shy  and  difRdent,  but  genial  and  lovable,  his  moral 
character'  was  above  reproach,  excepting  that  he  is  said  to  have  been  too 
fond  of  wine. 


296  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

It  is  a  celebrated  thought  of  Socrates,  that  if  all  the 
misfortunes  of  mankind  were  cast  into  a  public  stock,  in 
order  to  be  equally  distributed  among  the  whole  species, 
those  who  now  think  themselves  the  most  unhappy,  would 
prefer  the  share  they  are  already  possessed  of  before  that 
which  would  fall  to  them  by  such  a  division.  Horace  has 
carried  this  thought  a  great  deal  farther,  and  supposes  that 
the  hardships  or  misfortunes  we  lie  under,  are  more  easy  to 
us  than  those  of  any  other  person  would  be,  in  case  we 
could  change  conditions  with  him. 

As  I  was  ruminating  on  these  two  remarks,  and  seated 
in  my  elbow-chair,  I  insensibly  fell  asleep;  when,  on  a 
sudden,  methought  there  was  a  proclamation  made  by 
Jupiter,  that  every  mortal  should  bring  in  his  griefs  and 
calamities,  and  throw  them  together  in  a  heap.  There  was 
a  large  plain  appointed  for  this  purpose.  I  took  my  stand 
in  the  center  of  it,  and  saw,  w'ith  a  great  deal  of  pleasure, 
the  whole  human  species  marching  one  after  another,  and 
throwing  down  their  several  loads,  which  immediately  grew 
up  into  a  prodigious  mountain,  that  seemed  to  rise  above 
the  clouds. 

There  was  a  certain  lady  of  a  thin,  airy  shape,  who  was 
very  active  in  this  solemnity.  She  carried  a  magnifying 
glass  in  one  of  her  hands,  and  was  clothed  in  a  loose,  flow- 
ing robe,  embroidered  with  several  figures  of  fiends  and 
sjiecters,  that  discovered  themselves  in  a  thousand  chimer- 
ical shapes  as  her  garment  hovered  in  the  wind.  There 
was  something  wild  and  distracted  in  her  looks.  Her  name 
was  Fancy.  She  led  up  every  mortal  to  the  appointed 
place,  after  having  officiously  assisted  him  in  making  up  his 
pack,  and  laying  it  upon  his  shoulders.  My  heart  melted 
within  me  to  see  my  fellow-creatures  groaning  under  their 
respective  burdens,  and  to  consider  that  prodigious  bulk 
of  human  calamities  which  lay  before  me. 

There  were,  how'ever,  several  persons  who  gave  me  great 
diversion  upon  this  occasion.     I  observed  one  bringing  in  a 


SIXTH  READER.  297 

fardel,  very  carefully  concealed  under  an  old  embroidered 
cloak,  which,  upon  his  throwing  it  into  the  heap,  I  dis- 
covered to  be  poverty.  Another,  after  a  great  deal  of 
puffing,  threw  down  his  luggage,  which,  upon  examining, 
I  found  to  be  his  wife. 

There  were  multitudes  of  lovers  saddled  with  very  whim- 
sical burdens,  composed  of  darts  and  flames;  but,  what 
was  very  odd,  though  they  sighed  as  if  their  hearts  would 
break  under  these  bundles  of  calamities,  they  could  not 
persuade  themselves  to  cast  them  into  the  heap,  when 
they  came  up  to  it;  but,  after  a  few  faint  eflbrts,  shook 
their  heads,  and  marched  away  as  heavy  loaden  as  they 
came. 

I  saw  multitudes  of  old  women  throw  down  their 
wrinkles,  and  several  young  ones  who  stripped  themselves 
of  a  tawny  skin.  There  were  very  great  heaps  of  red 
noses,  large  lij^s,  and  rusty  teeth.  The  truth  of  it  is,  I 
was  surprised  to  see  the  greatest  f)art  of  the  mountain 
made  up  of  bodily  deformities.  Observing  one  advancing 
toward  the  heap  with  a  larger  cargo  than  ordinary  upon 
his  back,  I  found,  upon  his  near  approach,  that  it  was 
only  a  natural  hump,  which  he  disposed  of  with  great  joy 
of  heart  among  this  collection  of  human  miseries. 

There  were,  likewise,  distempers  of  all  sorts,  though  I 
could  not  but  observe  that  there  were  many  more  imag- 
inary than  real.  One  little  packet  I  could  not  but  take 
notice  of,  Avhich  Avas  a  complication  of  all  the  diseases  in- 
cident to  human  nature,  and  was  in  the  hand  of  a  great 
many  fine  people.  This  was  called  the  spleen.  But  what 
most  of.  all  surprised  me  was,  that  there  was  not  a  single 
vice  or  folly  thrown  into  the  whole  heap :  at  which  I  was 
very  much  astonished,  having  concluded  within  myself 
that  every  one  would  take  this  opportunity  of  getting  rid 
of  his  passions,  prejudices,  and  frailties. 

I  took  notice  in  particular  of  a  very  profligate  fellow, 
who,  I  did  not  question,  came  loaden  with  his  crimes,  but 


298  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

upon  searching  into  his  bundle,  I  found  that  instead  of 
throwing  his  guilt  from  him,  he  had  only  laid  down  his 
memory.  He  was  followed"  by  another  worthless  rogue, 
who  flung  away  his  modesty  instead  of  his  ignorance. 

When  the  whole  race  of  mankind  had  thus  cast  their 
burdens,  the  phantom  which  had  been  so  busy  on  this 
occasion,  seeing  me  an  idle  spectator  of  what  passed,  ap- 
proached toward  me.  I  grew  uneasy  at  her  presence,  when, 
of  a  sudden,  she  held  her  magnifying  glass  full  before  my 
eyes.  I  no  sooner  saw  my  face  in  it,  but  was  startled  at 
the  shortness  of  it,  which  now  appeared  to  me  in  its  utmost 
aggravation.  The  immoderate  breadth  of  the  features 
made  me  verj  much  out  of  humor  with  my  own  counte- 
nance, upon  which  I  threw  it  from  me  like  a  mask.  It 
happened  very  luckily  that  one  who  stood  by  me  had 
just  before  thrown  down  his  visage,  which,  it  seems,  was 
too  long  for  him.  It  was,  indeed,  extended  to  a  most 
shameful  length ;  I  believe  the  very  chin  Avas,  modestly 
speaking,  as  long  as  my  whole  face.  We  had  both  of  us 
an  opportunity  of  mending  ourselves;  and  all  the  contribu- 
tions being  now  brought  in,  every  man  Avas  at  liberty  to 
exchange  his  misfortunes  for  those  of  another  person. 

As  we  stood  round  the  heap,  and  surveyed  the  several 
materials  of  which  it  was  composed,  there  was  scarcely  a 
mortal  in  this  vast  multitude  who  did  not  discover  what  he 
thought  pleasures  and  blessings  of  life,  and  wondered  how 
the  owners  of  them  ever  came  to  look  upon  them  as 
burthens  and  grievances.  As  we  were  regarding  very  at- 
tentively this  confusion  of  miseries,  this  chaos  of  calamity, 
Jupiter  issued  out  a  second  proclamation,  that  every  one 
was  now  at  liberty  to  exchange  his  affliction,  and  to  return 
to  his  habitation  with  any  such  other  bundle  as  should  be 
delivered  to  him.  Upon  this,  Fancy  began  again  to  bestir 
herself,  and,  parceling  out  the  whole  heap  with  incredible 
activity,  recommended  to  every  one  his  particular  packet. 
The  hurry  and  confusion  at  this  time  was  not  to  be  ex- 


SIXTH  READER.  299 

pressed.  Some  observations,  which  I  made  upon  the  occa- 
sion, I  shall  communicate  to  the  public. 

A  venerable,  gray-headed  man,  who  had  laid  down  the 
colic,  and  who,  I  found,  wanted  an  heir  to  his  estate, 
snatched  up  an  undutiful  son  that  had  been  thrown  into 
the  heap  by  an  angry  father.  The  graceless  youth,  in  less 
than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  pulled  the  old  gentleman  by 
the  beard,  and  had  liked  to  have  knocked  his  brains  out; 
so  that  meeting  the  true  father,  who  came  toward  him  with 
a  fit  of  the  gripes,  he  begged  him  to  take  his  son  again, 
ajid  give  him  back  his  colic;  but  they  were  incapable, 
either  of  them,  to  recede  from  the  choice  they  had  made. 
A  poor  galley-slave,  who  had  thrown  down  his  chains,  took 
up  the  gout  in  their  stead,  but  made  such  wry  faces  that 
one  might  easily  perceive  he  was  no  great  gainer  by  the 
bargain. 

The  female  world  were  very  busy  among  themselves  in 
bartering  for  features;  one  was  trucking  a  lock  of  gray 
hairs  for  a  carbuncle;  and  another  was  making  over  a 
short  waist  for  a  pair  of  round  shoulders ;  but  on  all  these 
occasions  there  was  not  one  of  them  who  did  not  think  the 
new  blemish,  as  soon  as  she  had  got  it  into  her  possession, 
much  more  disagreeable  than  the  old  one. 

I  must  not  omit  my  own  particular  adventure.  My 
friend  with  the  long  visage  had  no  sooner  taken  upon  him 
my  short  face,  but  he  made  such  a  grotesque  figure  in  it, 
that  as  I  looked  upon  him,  I  could  not  forbear  laughing  at 
myself,  insomuch  that  I  put  my  own  face  out  of  counte- 
nance. The  poor  gentleman  was  so  sensible  of  the  ridicule, 
that  I  found  he  was  ashamed  of  what  he  had  done.  On 
the  other  side,  I  found  that  I  myself  had  no  great  reason 
to  triumph,  for  as  I  went  to  touch  my  forehead,  I  missed 
the  place,  and  clapped  my  finger  upon  my  upper  lip.  Be- 
sides, as  my  nose  was  exceedingly  prominent,  I  gave  it  two 
or  three  unlucky  knocks  as  I  was  playing  my  hand  about 
my  face,  and  aiming  at  some  other  part  of  it. 


300  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

I  saw  two  other  gentlemen  by  me  who  were  in  the  same 
ridiculous  circumstances.  These  had  made  a  foolish  swap 
between  a  couple  of  thick  bandy  legs  and  two  long  trap- 
sticks  that  had  no  calves  to  them.  One  of  these  looked 
like  a  man  walking  upon  stilts,  and  was  so  lifted  up  into  the 
air,  above  his  ordinary  height,  that  his  head  turned  round 
with  it,  while  the  other  made  such  awkward  circles,  as  he 
attempted  to  walk,  that  he  scarcely  knew  how  to  move 
forward  upon  his  new  supporters.  Observing  him  to  be  a 
pleasant  kind  of  a  fellow,  I  stuck  my  cane  in  the  ground, 
and  told  him  I  would  lay  him  a  bottle  of  wine  that  he  did 
not  march  up  to  it  on  a  line  that  I  drew  for  him,  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour. 

The  heap  was  at  last  distributed  among  the  two  sexes, 
who  made  a  most  piteous  sight,  as  they  wandered  up  and 
down  under  the  pressure  of  their  several  burthens.  The 
whole  plain  was  filled  with  murmurs  and  complaints, 
groans  and  lamentations.  Juj^iter,  at  length  taking  com- 
passion on  the  jjoor  mortals,  ordered  them  a  second  time  to 
lay  down  their  loads,  with  a  design  to  give  every  one  his 
own  again.  They  discharged  themselves  with  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure;  after  which,  the  jjhantom  who  had  led  them 
into  such  gross  delusions,  was  commanded  to  disappear. 
There  was  sent  in  her  stead  a  goddess  of  a  quite  different 
figure:  her  motions  Avere  steady  and  composed,  and  her 
asjiect  serious  but  cheerful.  She  every  now  and  then  cast 
her  eyes  toward  heaven,  and  fixed  them  upon  Jupiter. 
Her  name  was  Patience.  She  had  no  sooner  placed  herself 
by  the  Mount  of  Sorrows,  but,  what  I  thought  very  re- 
markable, the  whole  heap  sunk  to  such  a  degree  that  it 
did  not  appear  a  third  part  so  big  as  it  was  before.  She 
afterward  returned  every  man  his  own  proper  calamity, 
and,  teaching  him  how  to  bear  it  in  the  most  commodious 
manner,  he  marched  off  with  it  contentedly,  being  very 
well  pleased  that  he  had  not  been  left  to  his  own  choice 
as  to  the  kind  of  evil  which  fell  to  his  lot. 


SIXTH  READER.  301 

Beside  the  several  pieces  of  morality  to  be  drawn  out  of 
this  vision,  I  learnt  from  it  never  to  repine  at  my  own 
misfortunes,  or  to  envy  the  happiness  of  another,  since  it 
is  impossible  for  any  man  to  form  a  right  judgment  of  his 
neighbor's  sufierings;  for  which  reason,  also,  I  have  deter- 
mined never  to  think  too  lightly  of  another's  complaints, 
but  to  regard  the  sorrows  of  my  fellow-creatures  with  sen- 
timents of  humanity  and  compassion. 

Notes. — Horace  (b.  65,  d.  8  B.C.) "was  a  celebrated  Roman 
poet. 

Jupiter,  according  to  mythology,  was  the  greatest  of  the 
Greek  and  Roman  gods;  he  was  thought  to  be  the  supreme 
ruler  of  both  mortals  nnd  immortals. 


LXXXII.     JUPITER   AND    TEN, 


James  T.  Fields,  1817-1881,  was  born  at  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire. 
For  many  years  he  was  partner  in  the  well-known  firm  of  Ticknor  & 
Fields  (later  Fields,  Osgood  &  Co.),  the  leading  publishers  of  standard 
American  literature.  For  eight  years,  he  was  chief  editor  of  the  "  At- 
lantic Monthly;"  and,  since  he  left  that  position,  he  has  often  enriched 
its  pages  by  the  productions  of  his  pen.  Of  late,  ISIr.  Fields  has  gained 
some  reputation  as  a  lecturer.  His  literary  abilities  are  of  no  mean 
order ;  but  he  has  not  done  so  much  in  producing  literature  himself,  as 
in  aiding  others  in  its  production. 


Mrs.  Chub  was  rich  and  portly, 
Mrs.  Chub  was  very  grand, 

Mrs.  Chub  was  always  reckoned 
A  lady  in  the  land. 

You  shall  see  her  marble  mansion 
In  a  very  stately  square,- — 

Mr.  C.  knows  Avhat  it  cost  him. 
But  that's  neither  here  nor  there. 


302  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Mrs.  Chub  was  so  sagacious, 
Such  a  patron  of  the  arts, 

And  she  gave  such  foreign  orders 
That  she  won  all  foreign  hearts. 

Mrs.  Chub  was  always  talking. 
When  she  Avent  away  from  home, 

Of  a  most  prodigious  painting 

Which  had  just  arrived  from  Rome. 

"  Such  a  treasure,"  she  insisted, 
"One  might  never  see  again!" 

"What's  the  subject?"  we  inquired. 
"It  is  Jupiter  and  Ten!" 

"Ten  what?"  we  blandly  asked  her 
For  the  knowledge  we  did  lack, 

"Ah!  that  I  can  not  tell  you, 
But  the  name  is  on  the  back. 

"There  it  stands  in  printed  letters, — 
Come  to-morrow,  gentlemen, — 

Come  and  see  our  splendid  painting, 
Our  fine  Jupiter  and  Ten ! " 

When  Mrs.  Chub  departed. 
Our  brains  began  to  rack, — 

She  could  not  be  mistaken 

For  the  name  was  on  the  back. 

So  we  begged  a  great  Professor 

To  lay  aside  his  pen. 
And  give  some  information 

Touching  "Jupiter  and  Ten." 


SIXTH  READER.  303 

And  we  pondered  well  the  subject, 

And  our  Lempriere  we  turned, 
To  find  out  who  the  Ten  were; 

But  we  could  not,  though  we  burned. 

But  when  we  saw  the  picture, — 

O  Mrs.  Chub!    Oh,  fie!    0! 
We  perused  the  printed  label. 

And  't  was  Jupiter  and  Io  ! 


Notes. — John  Lempriere,  an  Englishman,  was  the  author 
of  a  "Classical  Dictionary"  which  until  the  middle  of  the 
present  century  was  the  chief  book  of  reference  on  ancient 
mythology. 

Io  is  a  mythical  heroine  of  Greece,  with  whom  Jupiter  was 
enamored. 


LXXXIII.     SCENE    FROM    "THE    POOR    GENTLEMAN." 


George  Colman,  1762-1836,  was  tlie  son  of  George  Colinan,  a  writer  of 
dramas,  wlio  in  1777  purchased  the  "Hayniarket  Tlieater,"  in  London. 
Owing  to  tlie  illness  of  the  father,  Oolman  the  younger  assumed  the 
management  of  the  theater  in  1785,  which  post  he  held  for  a  long  time. 
He  was  highly  distinguished  as  a  dramatic  author  and  wit.  "  The  Poor 
Gentleman,"  from  which  the  following  selection  is  adapted,  is  perhaps 
the  best  known  of  his  works. 


Sm  Egbert  Bramble  and  Humphrey  Dobbdjs. 

Sir  R.  I'll  tell  you  what,  Humphrey  Dobbins,  there  is 
not  a  syllable  of  sense  in  all  you  have  been  saying.  But 
I  suppose  you  will  maintain  there  is. 

Hum.     Yes. 

Sir  R.  Yes!  Is  that  the  way  you  talk  to  me,  you  old 
boor?     What's  my  name? 

Hum.     Robert  Bramble. 


304  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Sir  R.  An't  I  a  baronet?  Sir  Robert  Bramble,  of 
Blackberry  Hall,  in  the  county  of  Kent?  'Tis  time  you 
should  know  it,  for  you  have  been  my  clumsy,  two-fisted 
valet  these  thirty  years:  can  you  deny  that? 

Hum.     Hem ! 

Sir  R.  Hera?  What  do  you  mean  by  hem?  Open 
that  rusty  door  of  your  mouth,  and  make  your  ugly  voice 
walk  out  of  it.     Why  don't  you  answer  my  question  ? 

Hum.  Because,  if  I  contradict  you,  I  shall  tell  you  a 
lie,  and  whenever  I  agree  with  you,  you  are  sure  to  fall 
out. 

Sir  R.  Humphrey  Dobbins,  I  have  been  so  long  en- 
deavoring to  beat  a  few  brains  into  your  pate  that  all 
your  hair  has  tumbled  off  before  my  point  is  carried. 

Hum.  What  then?  Our  parson  says  my  head  is  an 
emblem  of  both  our  honors. 

Sir  R.  Ay;  because  honors,  like  your  head,  are  apt  to 
be  empty. 

Hum.  No;  but  if  a  servant  has  grown  bald  under  his 
master's  nose,  it  looks  as  if  there  was  honesty  on  one  side, 
and  regard  for  it  on  the  other. 

Sir  R.  Why,  to  be  sure,  old  Humphrey,  you  are  as 
honest  as  a  —  pshaw!  the  parson  means  to  palaver  us;  but, 
to  return  to  my  position,  I  tell  you  I  don't  like  your  flat 
contradiction. 

Hum.     Yes,  you  do. 

Sir  R.  I  tell  you  I  don't.  I  only  love  to  hear  men's 
arguments.     I  hate  their  flummery. 

Hum.     What  do  you  call  flummery? 

Sir  R.  Flattery,  blockhead!  a  dish  too  often  served  up 
by  paltry  poor  men  to  paltry  rich  ones. 

Hum.     I  never  serve  it  up  to  you. 

Sir  R.  No,  you  give  me  a  dish  of  a  difierent  descrip- 
tion. 

Hum.     Hem!  what  is  it? 

Sir  R.     Sour-krout,  you  old  crab. 


SIXTH  READER.  305 

Mum.  I  have  held  you  a  stout  tug  at  argument  this 
many  a  year. 

Sir  R.  And  yet  I  could  never  teach  you  a  syllogism. 
Now  mind,  when  a  poor  man  assents  to  what  a  rich  man 
says,  I  suspect  he  means  to  flatter  him:  now  I  am  rich, 
and  hate  flattery.  Ergo  —  when  a  poor  man  subscribes  to 
my  opinion,  I  hate  him. 

Hum.     That's  wrong. 

Sir  R.     Very  well;  negatur;  now  prove  it. 

Sum.     Put  the  case  then,  I  am  a  poor  man. 

Sir  R.  You  an't,  you  scoundrel.  You  know  you  shall 
never  want  while  I  have  a  shilling. 

Hum.     Bless  you! 

Sir  R.     Pshaw!     Proceed. 

Hum.  Well,  then,  I  am  a  poor  —  I  must  be  a  poor  man 
now,  or  I  never  shall  get  on. 

Sir  R.     Well,  get  on,  be  a  poor  man. 

Hum.  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  I  argue  with  you,  and 
convince  you,  you  are  wrong;  then  you  call  yourself  a 
blockhead,  and  I  am  of  your  opinion:  now,  that's  no 
flattery. 

Sir  R.  Why,  no;  but  when  a  man's  of  the  same 
opinion  with  me,  he  puts  an  end  to  the  argument,  and  that 
puts  an  end  to  the  conversation,  and  so  I  hate  him  for 
that.     But  where 's  my  nephew  Frederic? 

Hum.     Been  out  these  two  hours. 

Sir  R.  An  undutiful  cub !  Only  arrived  from  Russia 
last  night,  and  though  I  told  him  to  stay  at  home  till  I 
rose,  he's  scampering  over  the  fields  like  a  Calmuck 
Tartar. 

Hum.     He's  a  fine  fellow. 

Sir  R.  He  has  a  touch  of  our  family.  Don't  you  think 
he  is  a  little  like  me,  Humphrey? 

Hum.  No,  not  a  bit;  you  are  as  ugly  an  old  man  as 
ever  I  clapped  my  eyes  on. 

Sir   R.      Now   that's   plaguy   impudent,    but    there's  no 

6.-26. 


306  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

flattery  in  it,  and  it  keeps  up  the  independence  of  argu- 
ment. His  father,  my  brother  Job,  is  of  as  tame  a  spirit 
—  Humjihrey,  you  remember  ray  brother  Job? 

Hum.  Yes,  you  drove  him  to  Russia  five-and-twenty 
years  ago. 

Sir  R.     I  did  not  drive  him. 

Hum.  Yes,  you  did.  You  would  never  let  him  be  at 
peace  in  the  way  of  argument. 

Sir  R.     At  peace!     Zounds,  he  would  never  go  to  war. 

Hum.     He  had  the  merit  to  be  calm. 

Sir  R.  So  has  a  duck-pond.  He  was  a  bit  of  still  life; 
a  chip;  weak  water-gruel;  a  tame  rabbit,  boiled  to  rags, 
without  sauce  or  salt.  He  received  my  arguments  with 
his  mouth  open,  .like  a  poor-box  gaping  for  half-pence,  and, 
good  or  bad,  he  swallowed  them  all  without  any  resistance. 
We  could  n't  disagree,  and  so  we  parted. 

Hum.  And  the  poor,  meek  gentleman  went  to  Russia 
for  a  quiet  life. 

Sir  R.  A  quiet  life!  Why,  he  married  the  moment  he 
got  there,  tacked  himself  to  the  shrew  relict  of  a  Russian 
merchant,  and  continued  a  speculation  with  her  in  furs, 
flax,  potashes,  tallow,  linen,  and  leather;  what's  the  conse- 
quence?    Thirteen  months  ago  he  broke. 

Hum.  Poor  soul,  his  wife  should  have  followed  the 
business  for  him. 

Sir  R.  I  fancy  she  did  follow  it,  for  she  died  just  as  he 
broke,  and  now  this  madcap,  Frederic,  is  sent  over  to  me 
for  protection.  Poor  Job,  now  he  is  in  distress,  I  must 
not  neglect  his  sou. 

Hum,.     Here  comes  his  son;  that's  Mr.  Frederic. 

Enter  Fredekic. 

Fred.  Oh,  my  dear  uncle,  good  morning!  Your  park 
is  nothing  but  beauty. 

Sir  R.  Who  bid  you  caper  over  my  beauty?  I  told 
you  to  stay  in-doors  till  I  got  up. 


SIXTH  READER.  3Q7 

Fred.     So  you  did,  but  I  entirely  forgot  it. 

Sir  R.     And  pray,  what  made  you  forget  it? 

Fred.     The  sun. 

Sir  R.  The  sun!  he's  mad!  you  mean  the  moon,  I 
believe. 

Fred.  Oh,  my  dear  uncle,  you  don't  know  the  effect  of 
a  fine  spring  morning  upon  a  fellow  just  arrived  from 
Russia.  The  day  looked  bright,  trees  budding,  birds  sing- 
ing, the  park  was  so  gay  that  I  took  a  leap  out  of  your  old 
balcony,  made  your  deer  fly  before  me  like  the  wind,  and 
chased  them  all  around  the  park  to  get  an  appetite  for 
breakfast,  while  you  were  snoring  in  bed,  uncle. 

Sir  R.  Oh,  oh !  So  the  eflTect  of  English  sunshine 
upon  a  Russian,  is  to  make  him  jump  out  of  a  balcony, 
and  worry  my  deer. 

Fred.     I  confess  it  had  that  influence  upon  me. 

Sir  R.  You  had  better  be  influenced  by  a  rich  old 
uncle,  unless  you  think  the  sun  likely  to  leave  you  a  fat 
legacy. 

Fred.     I  hate  legacies. 

Sir  R.  Sir,  that's  mighty  singular.  They  are  pretty 
solid  tokens,  at  least. 

Fred.  Very  melancholy  tokens,  uncle;  they  are  the 
posthumous  dispatches  Affection  sends  to  Gratitude,  to  in- 
form us  we  have  lost  a  gracious  friend. 

Sir  R.     How  charmingly  the  dog  argues! 

Fred.  But  I  own  my  spirits  ran  away  with  me  this 
morning.  I  will  obey  you  better  in  future;  for  they  tell 
me  you  are  a  very  worthy,  good  sort  of  old  gentleman. 

S^r  R.  Now  who  had  the  familiar  impudence  to  tell 
you  that? 

Fred.     Old  rusty,  there. 

Sir  R.     Why  Humphrey,  you  didn't? 

Sum.     Yes,  but  I  did  though. 

Fred.  Yes,  he  did,  and  on  that  score  I  shall  be  anxious 
to  show  you  obedience,   for  'tis  as  meritorious  to  attempt 


308  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

sharing  a  good  man's  heart,  as  it  is  paltry  to  have  designs 
upon  a  rich  man's  money.  A  noble  nature  aims  its  atten- 
tions full  breast  high,  uncle;  a  mean  mind  levels  its  dirty 
assiduities  at  the  pocket. 

Sir  R.  (Shaking  him  by  the  hand.')  Jump  out  of  every 
window  I  have  in  my  house ;  hunt  my  deer  into  high 
fevers,  my  fine  fellow!  Ay,  that's  right.  This  is  spunk, 
and  plain  speaking.  Give  me  a  man  who  is  always  fling- 
ing his  dissent  to  my  doctrines  smack  in  my  teeth. 

Fred.     I  disagree  with  you  there,  uncle. 

Hum.     And  so  do  I. 

Fred.  You!  you  forward  puppy!  If  you  were  not  so 
old,  I'd  knock  you  down. 

Sir  R.  I'll  knock  you  down,  if  you  do.  I  won't  have 
my  servants  thumped  into  dumb  flattery. 

Hum.  Come,  you  are  rufiied.  Let  us  go  to  the  business 
of  the  morning. 

Sir  R.  I  hate  the  business  of  the  morning.  Don't  you 
see  we  are  engaged  in  discussion.  I  tell  you,  I  hate  the 
business  of  the  morning. 

Hum.     No  you  don't. 

Sir  R.      Don't  I?     Why  not? 

Hum.     Because  'tis  charity. 

Sir  R.  Pshaw!  Well,  we  must  not  neglect  the  bus- 
iness, if  there  be  any  distress  in  the  parish.  Read  the  list, 
Humphrey. 

Hum.  {Taking  out  a  paper  and  reading.)  "Jonathan 
Huggins,  of  Muck  Mead,  is  put  in  prison  for  debt." 

Sir  R.  Why,  it  was  only  last  Aveek  that  Gripe,  the 
attorney,  recovered  two  cottages  for  him  by  law,  worth 
sixty  pounds. 

Hum.  Yes,  and  charged  a  hundred  for  his  trouble;  so 
seized  the  cottages  for  part  of  his  bill,  and  threw  Jonathan 
into  jail  for  the  remainder. 

Sir  R.  A  harpj!  I  must  relieve  the  poor  fellow's  dis- 
tress. 


SIXTH  READER.  309 

Fred.     And  I  must  kick  his  attorney. 

Hum.     {^Reading. )     ' '  The  curate's  horse  is  dead." 

Sir  R.     Pshaw!     There's  no  distress  in  that. 

Hum.  Yes,  there  is,  to  a  man  that  must  go  twenty 
miles  every  Sunday  to  2:)reach  three  sermons,  for  thirty 
pounds  a  year. 

Sir  R.      Why  won't  the  vicar  give  him  another  nag? 

Hum.  Because  't  is  cheaper  to  get  another  curate 
ready  mounted. 

Sir  R.  Well,  send  him  the  black  pad  which  I  pur- 
chased last  Tuesday,  and  tell  him  to  work  him  as  long  as 
he  lives.     What  else  have  we  upon  the  list? 

Hum.  Something  out  of  the  common;  there's  one 
Lieutenant  Worthington,  a  disabled  officer  and  a  widower, 
come  to  lodge  at  Farmer  Harrowby's,  in  the  village ;  he  is, 
it  seems,  very  poor,  and  more  proud  than  poor,  and  more 
honest  than  proud. 

Sir  R.     And  so  he  sends  to  me  for  assistance? 

Hum.  He  'd  see  you  hanged  first !  No,  he  'd  sooner  die 
than  ask  you  or  any  man  for  a  shilling !  There 's  his 
daughter,  and  his  wife's  aunt,  and  an  old  corporal  that 
served  in  the  wars  with  him,  he  keeps  them  all  upon  his 
half-pay. 

Sir  R.     Starves  them  all,  I'm  afraid,  Humphrey. 

Fred.     (Going.)     Good  morning,  uncle. 

Sir  R.     You  rogue,  where  are  you  running  now? 

Fred.     To  talk  with  Lieutenant  Worthington. 

Sir  R.     And  what  may  you  be  going  to  say  to  him? 

Fred.  I  can't  tell  till  I  encounter  him  ;  and  then,  uncle, 
when  I  have  an  old  gentleman  by  the  hand,  who  has  been 
disabled  in  his  country's  service,  and  is  struggling  to  sup- 
port his  motherless  child,  a  poor  relation,  and  a  faithful 
servant,  in  honorable  indigence,  impulse  will  supply  me 
with  words  to  express  my  sentiments. 

Sir  R.  Stop,  you  rogue;  I  must  be  before  you  in  this 
business. 


310  ECLECTIC  SEEIES. 

Fred.  That  depends  on  wlio  can  run  the  fastest;  so, 
start  fair,  uncle,  and  here  goes. —  {Runs  out.) 

Sir  B.  Stop,  stop;  why,  Frederic  —  a  jackanapes  —  to 
take  my  department  out  of  my  hands!  I'll  disinherit  the 
dog  for  his  assurance. 

Hum.     No,  you  won't. 
•   Sir  R.     Won't  I?    Hang  me  if  I  —  but  we'll  argue  that 
point  as  we  go.     So,  come  along  Humphrey. 

Notes. — Ergo  (pro.  er^go)  is  a  Latin  word  meaning  there- 
fore. Negatur  (pro.  ne-ga^tur)  is  a  Latin  verb,  and  means 
it  is  denied. 

The  Tartars  are  a  branch  of  the  Mongolian  race,  embrac- 
ing among  other  tribes  tlie  Calmucks.  The  latter  are  a 
fierce,  nomadic  peoj^le  inhabiting  parts  of  the  Russian  and 
Chinese  empires. 


LXXXIV.    MY   MOTHER'S    PICTURE. 


■William  Cowper,  1731-1800,  was  the  son  of  an  English  clergyman; 
both  his  parents  were  descended  from  noble  families.  He  was  always  of 
a  gentle,  timid  disposition;  and  the  roughness  of  his  school-fellows  in- 
creased liis  weakness  in  this  respect.  He  studied  law,  and  was  admitted 
to  the  bar,  but  never  practiced  his  profession.  When  he  was  about 
thirty  years  of  age,  he  was  appointed  to  a  clerkship  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  but  could  not  summon  courage  to  enter  upon  the  discharge  of  its 
duties.  He  was  so  disturbed  by  this  aflfair  that  he  became  insane,  sought 
to  destroy  himself,  and  had  to  be  consignetl  to  a  private  asylum.  Soon 
after  his  recovery,  he  found  a  congenial  home  in  the  family  of  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Unwin.  On  the  death  of  this  gentleman,  a  few  years  later,  he  con- 
tinued to  reside  with  his  widow  till  her  death,  a  short  time  before  that 
of  Cowper.  Most  of  this  time  tlieir  home  was  at  Olney.  His  first  writ- 
ings were  published  in  1782.  He  wrote  several  Ijeautiful  hymns,  "The 
Task,"  and  some  minor  poems.  These,  with  his  translations  of  Hojner 
and  his  correspondence,  make  up  his  published  works.  His  life  was 
always  pure  and  gentle;  he  took  great  pleasure  in  simple,  natural  objects, 
and  in  playing  with  animals.  His  insanity  returned  from  time  to  time, 
and  darkened  his  life  at  its  close.  Wlien  six  years  of  age,  he  lost  his 
mother ;  and  the  following  selection  is  part  of  a  touching  tribute  to  her 
memory  written  many  years  later. 


SIXTH  READER.  311 

Oh  that  those  lips  had  language!     Life  has  passed 
With  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  them  last. 
My  mother,  when  I  learned  that  thou  wast  dead, 
Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  shed? 
Hovered  thy  spirit  o'er  thy  sorroAving  son. 
Wretch  even  then,  life's  journey  just  begun? 
Perhaps  thou  gavest  me,  though  unfelt,  a  kiss, 
Perhaps  a  tear,  if  souls  can  weep  in  bliss. 
Ah,  that  maternal  smile !   it  answers  —  Yes ! 


I  heard  the  bell  tolled  on  thy  burial  day; 
I  saw  the  hearse  that  bore  thee  slow  away; 
And,  turning  from  my  nursery  window,  drew 
A  long,  long  sigh,  and  wept  a  last  adieu! 
But  was  it  such?     It  was.     Where  thou  art  gone, 
Adieus  and  farewells  are  a  sound  unknown. 
May  I  but  meet  thee  on  that  jieaceful  shore. 
The  parting  word  shall  pass  my  lips  no  more. 

Thy  maidens,  grieved  themselves  at  my  concern, 

Oft  gave  me  promise  of  thy  quick  return ; 

What  ardently  I  wished,  I  long  believed ; 

And,  disappointed  still,  was  still  deceived; 

By  expectation,  every  day  beguiled. 

Dupe  of  to-morrow,  even  when  a  child. 

Thus  many  a  sad  to-morrow  came  and  went, 

Till,'  all  my  stock  of  infant  sorrows  spent, 

I  learned  at  last  submission  to  my  lot; 

But,  though  I  less  deplored  thee,  ne'er  forgot. 

My  boast  is  not  that  I  deduce  my  birth 
From  loins  enthroned,  and  rulers  of  the  earth; 
But  higher  far  my  proud  pretensions  rise, — 
The  son  of  parents  passed  into  the  skies. 


312  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

And  now,  farewell!     Time,  unrevoked,  has  run 
His  wonted  course,  yet  what  I  wished  is  done. 

By  Contemplation's  help,  not  sought  in  vain, 
I  seem  to  have  lived  my  childhood  o'er  again; 
To  have  renewed  the  joys  that  once  were  mine, 
Without  the  sin  of  violating  thine ; 
And,  while  the  wings  of  Fancy  still  are  free. 
And  I  can  view  this  mimic  show  of  thee, 
Time  has  but  half  succeeded  in  his  theft, — 
Thyself  removed,  thy  power  to  soothe  me  left. 


LXXXV.    DEATH    OP    SAMSON. 

John  Milton,  1608-1674.  Eight  years  before  the  greatest  English  poet, 
Shakespeare,  died,  ISliltou,  wlio  ranks  next  to  him,  was  born.  He  was  a 
native  of  London,  where  his  father  followed  the  profession  of  a  scrive- 
ner, in  which  he  acquired  a  competence.  As  a  boy,  Milton  was  exceed- 
ingly studious,  continuing  liis  studies  till  midniglat.  He  graduated  at 
Christ's  College,  Cambridge,  wliere  his  singular  beauty,  his  sligiit  figure, 
and  his  fastidious  morality  caused  his  companions  to  nickname  him 
"tlie  lady  of  Christ's."  On  leaving  college  he  spent  five  years  more  in 
study,  and  produced  l»is  ligliter  poems.  He  then  traveled  on  tlie  conti- 
nent, returning  about  the  time  tlie  civil  war  broke  out.  For  a  time  he 
tajight  a  private  school,  but  soon  threw  himself  with  all  the  power  of 
his  able  and  tried  pen  into  the  political  struggle.  He  was  the  champion 
of  Parliament  and  of  Cromwell  for  about  twenty  years.  On  the  accession 
of  Charles  II., he  concealed  himself  for  a  time,  but  was  soon  allowed  to 
live  quietly  in  London.  His  ej'e-sight  had  totally  failed  in  1651;  but 
now,  in  blindness,  age,  family  affliction,  and  comparative  poverty,  he 
produced  his  great  work  "Paradise  Lost."  In  1667  he  sold  the  poem  for 
£5  in  cash,  with  a  promise  of  £10  more  on  certain  contingencies ;  the  sum 
total  received  by  himself  and  family  for  the  immortal  poem,  was  £23. 
Later,  he  produced  "  Paradise  Regained "  and  "  Samson  Agonistes," 
from  the  latter  of  which  the  following  extract  is  taken.  Milton  is  a 
wonderful  example  of  a  man,  who,  by  tlie  greatness  of  his  own  mind, 
triumphed  over  trials,  afllictions,  hardships,  and  the  evil  influence  of 
bitter  political  controversy. 

Occasions  drew  me  early  to  this  city; 
And,  as  the  gates  I  entered  with  sunrise. 
The  morning  trumpets  festival  proclaimed 


SIXTH  READER.  313 

Through  each  high  street:  little  1  had  dispatched, 
When  all  abroad  was  rumored  that  this  day 
Samson  should  he  brought  forth,  to  show  the  people 
Proof  of  his  mighty  strength  in  feats  and  games. 
I  sorrowed  at  his  captive  state, 
But  minded  not  to  be  absent  at  that  si^ectacle. 

The  building  was  a  sj^acious  theater 

Half-round,  on  two  main  pillars  vaulted  high, 

With  seats  where  all  the  lords,  and  each  degree 

Of  sort,  might  sit  in  order  to  behold ; 

The  other  side  was  open,  where  the  throng 

On  banks  and  scaffolds  under  sky  might  stand : 

I  among  these  aloof  obscurely  stood. 

The  feast  and  noon  grew  high,  and  sacrifice 

Had  filled  their  hearts  with  mirth,  high  cheer,  and  wine, 

When  to  their  sports  they  turned.     Immediately 

Was  Samson  as  a  public  servant  brought. 

In  their  state  livery  clad :  before  him  pij^es 

And  timbrels;  on  each  side  went  armed  guards; 

Both  horse  and  foot  before  him  and  behind. 

Archers  and  slingers,  cataphracts,  and  spears. 

At  sight  of  him  the  people  with  a  shout 

Rifted  the  air,  clamoring  their  god  with  praise. 

Who  had  made  their  dreadful  enemy  their  thiuil. 

He,  patient,  but  undaunted,  where  they  led  him, 
Came  to  the  place;  and  what  was  set  before  him. 
Which  without  help  of  eye  might  be  essayed. 
To  heave,  pull,  draw,  or  break,  he  still  performed 
All  with  incredible,  stupendous  force. 
None  daring  to  appear  antagonist. 

At  length  for  intermission  sake,  they  led  him 
Between  the  pillars;   he  his  guide  requested, 


314  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

As  overtired,  to  let  him  lean  awhile 

With  both  his  arms  on  those  two  massy  pillars, 

That  to  the  arched  roof  gave  main  support. 

He  unsuspicious  led  him;  which  when  Samson 

Felt  in  his  arms,  with  head  awhile  inclined. 

And  eyes  fast  fixed,  he  stood,  as  one  who  prayed. 

Or  some  great  matter  in  his  mind  revolved: 

At  last,  with  head  erect,  thus  cried  aloud: — 

"Hitherto,  lords,  what  your  commands  imposed 

I  have  performed,  as  reason  was,  obeying, 

Not  without  wonder  or  delight  beheld ; 

Now,  of  my  own  accord,  such  other  trial 

I  mean  to  show  you  of  my  strength  yet  greater 

As  with  amaze  shall  strike  all  who  behold." 

This  uttered,  straining  all  his  nerves,  he  bowed ; 
As  with  the  force  of  winds  and  waters  pent 
When  mountains  tremble,  those  two  massy  pillars 
With  horrible  convulsion  to  and  fro 
He  tugged,  he  shook,  till  down  they  came,  and  drew 
The  whole  roof  after  them  with  burst  of  thunder 
Upon  the  heads  of  all  who  sat  beneath, — 
Lords,  ladies,  captains,  counselors,  or  priests. 
Their  choice  nobility  and  flower,  not  only 
Of  this,  but  each  Philistian  city  round. 
Met  from  all  parts  to  solemnize  this  feast. 
Samson,  with  these  immixed,  inevitably 
Pulled  down  the  same  destruction  on  himself; 
The  vulgar  only  'scaped  who  stood  without. 

Note. — The  person  supposed  to  be  speaking  is  a  Hebrew 
who  chanced  to  be  present  at  Gaza  when  the  incidents  re- 
lated took  place.  After  the  catastrophe  he  rushes  to  Manoah, 
the  father  of  Samson,  to  whom  and  his  assembled  friends  he 
relates  what  he  saw.     (Cf.  Bible,  Judges  xvi,  23.) 


SIXTH  BEADEB.  315 


LXXXVI.    AN    EVENING   ADVENTURE. 

Not  long  since,  a  gentleman  was  traveling  in  one  of  the 
counties  of  Virginia,  and  about  the  close  of  the  day 
stopped  at  a  public  house  to  obtain  refreshment  and  spend 
the  night.  He  had  been  there  but  a  short  time,  before  an 
old  man  alighted  from  his  gig,  with  the  apparent  intention 
of  becoming  his  fellow  guest  at  the  same  house. 

As  the  old  man  drove  up,  he  observed  that  both  the 
shafts  of  his  gig  were  broken,  and  that  they  were  held  to- 
gether by  withes,  formed  from  the  bark  of  a  hickory  sap- 
ling. Oiu-  traveler  observed  further  that  he  was  plainly 
clad,  that  his  knee  buckles  were  loosened,  and  that  some- 
thing like  negligence  pervaded  his  dress.  Conceiving  him 
to  be  one  of  the  honest  yeomamy  of  om*  land,  the  court- 
esies of  strangers  passed  between  them,  and  they  entered 
the  tavern.  It  was  about  the  same  time,  that  an  addition 
of  three  or  four  young  gentlemen  was  made  to  their  num- 
ber; most,  if  not  all  of  them,  of  the  legal  profession. 

As  soon  as  they  became  conveniently  accommodated,  the 
conversation  was  turned,  by  one  of  the  latter,  upon  the 
eloquent  harangue  which  had  that  day  been  displayed  at 
the  bar.  It  was  replied  by  the  other  that  he  had  wit- 
nessed, the  same  day,  a  degree  of  eloquence  no  doubt 
equal,  but  it  was  from  the  pulpit.  Something  like  a  sar- 
castic rejoinder  was  made  as  to  the  eloquence  of  the  pulpit, 
and  a  warm  and  able  altercation  ensued,  in  which  the 
merits  of  the  Christian  religion  became  the  subject  of  dis- 
cussion. From  six  o'clock  until  eleven,  the  young  cham- 
pions wielded  the  sword  of  argument,  adducing  with  in- 
genuity and  ability  every  thing  that  could  be  said  pro  and 
con. 

During  this  protracted  period,  the  old  gentleman  listened 
with  the  meekness  and  modesty  of  a  child,  as  if  he  were 
adding  new  information  to  the  stores  of  his  own  mind ;  or 


316  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

perhaps  be  was  observing,  witb  a  pbilosophic  eye,  tbe  fac- 
ulties of  tbe  youthful  mind,  and  bow  new  energies  are 
evolved  by  repeated  action ;  or  perhaps,  with  patriotic 
emotion,  be  was  reflecting  upon  tbe  future  destinies  of  bis 
country,  and  on  tbe  rising  generation,  upon  whom  those 
future  destinies  must  devolve;  or,  most  probably,  Avith  a 
sentiment  of  moral  and  religious  feeling,  be  was  collecting 
an  argument  wbicb  no  art  Avould  be  "able  to  elude,  and 
no  force  to  resist."  Our  traveler  remained  a  spectator,  and 
took  no  part  in  what  Avas  said. 

At  last  one  of  tbe  young  men,  remarking  that  it  was 
impossible  to  combat  witb  long  and  established  prejudices, 
wheeled  around,  and  witb  some  familiarity  exclaimed, 
"Well,  my  old  gentleman,  what  think  you  of  these 
tbings?"  If,  said  tbe  traveler,  a  streak  of  vivid  lightning 
had  at  that  moment  crossed  tbe  room,  their  amazement 
could  not  have  been  greater  than  it  was  from  what  fol- 
lowed. The  most  eloquent  and  unanswerable  appeal  that 
be  bad  ever  beard  or  read,  was  made  for  nearly  an  hour 
by  the  old  gentleman.  So  perfect  was  bis  recollection, 
that  every  argument  urged  against  tbe  Christian  religion 
was  met  in  the  order  in  which  it  was  advanced.  Hume's 
sophistry  on  tbe  subject  of  miracles,  was,  if  possible,  more 
perfectly  answered  than  it  had  already  been  done  by 
Campbell.  And  in  the  whole  lecture  tbere  was  so  mucb 
simplicity  and  energy,  prfthos  and  sublimity,  that  not 
another  word  Avas  uttered. 

An  attempt  to  describe  it,  said  the  traveler,  would  be 
an  attempt  to  paint  tbe  sunbeams.  It  was  now  a  matter 
of  curiosity  and  inquiry  who  tbe  old  gentleman  Avas.  The 
traveler  concluded  that  it  was  the  preacher  from  Avbom  tbe 
pulpit  eloquence  Avas  beard;  but  no,  it  Avas  John  Mar- 
shall, the  Chief-justice  of  tbe  United  States. 

ISToTEs. — David  Hume  (b.  171],  d.  1776)  was  a  celebrated 
Scotch  historian  and  essayist.      His  most  important  work   is 


SIXTH  READER.  317 

"  The  History  of  England."  He  was  a  skeptic  in  matters  of 
religion,  and  was  a  ^^eculiarly  subtle  writer. 

George  Campbell  (b.  1719,  d.  1796)  was  a  distinguished 
Scotch  minister.  He  wrote  "A  Dissertation  on  Miracles,"  ably 
answering  Hume's  "Essay  on  Miracles." 

John  Marshall  (b.  1755,  d.  1835)  was  Chief-justice  of  the 
United  States  from  1801  until  his  death.  He  was  an  eminent 
jurist,  and  wrote  a  "  Life  of  Washington,"  which  made  him 
famous  as  an  author. 


L'XXXVII.    THE   BAREFOOT   BOY. 


John  Greenleaf  "Whittier,  1807 ,  was  born  in  Haverhill,  Mas- 
sachusetts ;  and,  witli  short  intervals  of  absence,  he  has  always  resided 
in  that  vicinity,  having  moved  to  Amesbury  in  1810.  His  parents  were 
Friends,  or  "  Quakers,"  and  he  has  always  held  to  the  same  faith.  He 
spent  his  boyhood  on  a  farm,  occasionally  writing  verses  for  the  papers 
even  then.  Two  years  of  study  in  the  academy  seem  to  have  given  him 
all  the  special  opportunity  for  education  that  he  ever  enjoyed.  In  1829 
he  edited  a  newspaper  in  Boston,  and  the  next  year  assumed  a  similar 
position  in  Hartford.  For  two  years  he  was  a  member  of  the  Massachu- 
setts legislature. win  1830  he  edited  an  anti-slavery  paper  in  Philadelphia, 
and  was  secretary  of  the  American  Anti-Slavery  Society. 

Mr.  Whittier  has  written  extensively  both  in  prose  and  verse.  Dur- 
ing the  last  fifteen  5'ears  he  has  i)ublished  several  volumes  of  poems,  and 
has  written  frequently  for  the  pages  of  the  "Atlantic  Monthly."  An 
earnest  opponent  of  slavery,  some  of  his  poems  bearing  on  that  subject 
are  fiery  and  even  bitter;  but,  in  general,  their  sentiment  is  gentle,  and 
often  pathetic.  As  a  poet,  he  takes  rank  among  those  most  highly  es- 
teemed by  his  countrymen.  "Snow -Bound,"  published  in  1805,  is  one  of 
the  longest  and  best  of  his  poems.  Several  of  his  shorter  pieces  are 
marked  by  much  smoothness  and  sweetness. 


Blessings  on  thee,  little  man, 
Barefoot  boy,  with  cheek  of  tan! 
With  thy  turned-up  pantaloons, 
And  thy  merry  whistled  tunes; 
With  thy  red  lip,  redder  still 
Kissed  by  strawberries  on  the  hill ; 
With  the  sunshine  on  thy  face, 
Through  thy  torn  brim's  jaunty  grace; 


318  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

From  my  heart  I  give  tliee  joy, — 

I  was  once  a  barefoot  boy! 

Prince  thou  art, — the  grown-up  man 

Only  is  republican. 

Let  the  million-dollared  ride! 

Barefoot,  trudging  at  his  side. 

Thou  hast  more  than  he  can  buy 

In  the  reach  of  ear  and  eye, — 

Outward  sunshine,  inward  joy: 

Blessings  on  thee,  barefoot  boy! 

Oh  for  boyhood's  painless  play, 
Sleep  that  wakes  in  laughing  day. 
Health  that  mocks  the  doctor's  rules. 
Knowledge  never  learned  of  schools. 
Of  the  wild  bee's  morning  chase, 
Of  the  wild  flower's  time  and  place. 
Flight  of  fowl  and  habitude 
Of  the  tenants  of  the  wood ;  « 

How  the  tortoise  bears  his  shell. 
How  the  woodchuck  digs  his  cell. 
And  the  ground-mole  sinks  his  well; 
How  the  robin  feeds  her  young, 
How  the  oriole's  nest  is  hung; 
Where  the  whitest  lilies  blow. 
Where  the  freshest  berries  grow, 
Where  the  ground-nut  trails  its  vine. 
Where  the  wood-grape's  clusters  shine; 
Of  the  black  Avasp's  cunning  way 
Mason  of  his  walls  of  clay. 
And  the  architectural  plans 
Of  gray  hornet  artisans  !  — 
For,  eschewing  books  and  tasks. 
Nature  answers  all  he  asks ; 
Hand  in  hand  with  her  he  walks, 


SIXTH  BEADER.  319 

Face  to  face  with  her  he  talks, 
Part  and  parcel  of  her  joy, — 
Blessings  ou  thee,  barefoot  boy! 

Oh  for  boyhood's  time  of  June, 
Crowding  years  in  one  brief  moon, 
When  all  things  I  heard  or  saw 
Me,  their  master,  waited  for. 
I  was  rich  in  flowers  and  trees, 
Humming-birds  and  honey-bees; 
For  my  sport  the  squirrel  played. 
Plied  the  snouted  mole  his  spade; 
For  my  taste  the  blackberry  cone 
Purpled  over  hedge  and  stone ; 
Laughed  the  brook  for  my  delight 
Through  the  day  and  through  the  night, 
Whispering  at  the  garden  wall, 
Talked  with  me  from  fall  to  fall; 
Mine  the  sand-rimmed  pickerel  pond, 
Mine  the  walnut  slopes  beyond. 
Mine,  on  bending  orchard  trees. 
Apples  of  Hesperides! 
Still,  as  my  horizon  grew, 
Larger  grew  my  riches  too; 
All  the  world  I  saw  or  kncAV 
Seemed  a  complex  Chinese  toy, 
Fashioned  for  a  barefoot  boy! 

Oh  for  festal  dainties  spread, 
Like  my  bowl  of  milk  and  bread, — 
Pewter  spoon  and  bowl  of  wood, 
On  the  door-stone,  gray  and  rude! 
O'er  me,  like  a  regal  tent. 
Cloudy-ribbed,  the  sunset  bent, 
Purple-curtained,  fringed  with  gold, 


320  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Looped  in  many  a  wind-swung  fold; 
While  for  music  came  the  play 
Of  the  pied  frog's  orchestra ; 
And  to  light  the  noisy  choir, 
Lit  the  fly  his  lamp  of  fire. 
I  was  monarch:  pomp  and  joy 
Waited  on  the  barefoot  boy! 


Cheerily,  then,  my  little  man, 

Live  and  laugh,  as  boyhood  can: 

Though  the  flinty  slopes  be  hard, 

Stubble-speared  the  new-mown  sward, 

Every  morn  shall  lead  thee  through 

Fresh  baptisms  of  the  dew ; 

Every  evening  from  thy  feet 

Shall  the  cool  wind  kiss  the  heat: 

All  too  soon  these  feet  must  hide  . 

In  the  prison  cells  of  pride,  \ 

Lose  the  freedom  of  the  sod, 

Like  a  colt's  for  work  be  shod. 

Made  to  tread  the  mills  of  toil, 

Up  and  down  in  ceaseless  moil: 

Happy  if  their  track  be  found 

Never  on  forbidden  ground; 

Happy  if  they  sink  not  in 

Quick  and  treacherous  sands  of  sin. 

Ah !  that  thou  shouldst  know  thy  joy 

Ere  it  passes,  barefoot  boy ! 


Note. — The  Hesperides,  in  Grecian  mythology,  were  four 
sisters  (some  traditions  say  three,  and  others,  seven)  who 
guarded  the  golden  apples  given  to  Juno  as  a  wedding 
present.  The  locality  of  the  garden  of  the  Hesperides  is  a 
disputed  point  with  mythologists. 


SIXTH  READER.  321 


LXXXVIII.    THE    GLOVE   AND    THE    LIONS. 


James  Henry  Leigh  Hunt,  1784-1S59.  Leigh  Hunt,  as  he  is  com- 
monly called,  was  prominent  before  the  public  for  fifty  years  as  "a 
writer  of  essays,  poems,  plays,  novels,  and  criticisms."  He  was  born  at 
Soutligate,  Middlesex,  England.  His  mother  was  an  American  lady. 
He  began  to  write  for  the  public  at  a  very  early  age.  In  1808,  in  connec- 
tion with  his  brother,  he  established  "The  Examiner,"  a  newspaper  ad- 
vocating liberal  opinions  in  politics.  For  certain  articles  ofTensive  to 
the  government,  the  brothers  were  fined  £.500  each  and  condemned  to 
two  years'  imprisonment.  Leigh  fitted  up  his  prison  like  a  boudoir,  re- 
ceiveil  his  friends  here,  and  wrote  several  works  during  his  confinement. 
Mr.  Hunt  was  intimate  witli  Byron,  Shelley,  Moore,  and  Keats,  and  was 
a.ssociated  with  Byron  and  Shelley  in  tlie  publication  of  a  political  and 
literary  journal.  His  last  years  were  peacefully  devoted  to  literature, 
and  in  1847  he  received  a  pension  from  the  government. 


King  Francis  was  a  hearty  king,  and  loved  a  royal  sport, 
And  one  day,  as  his  lions  fought,  sat  looking  on  the  court; 
The  nobles  filled  the  benches  round,  the  ladies  by  their  side, 
And  'mongst  them  sat  the  Count  de  Lorge,  with  one  for 

whom  he  sighed: 
And  truly  'twas  a  gallant  thing  to  see  that  crowning  show, 
Valor  and  love,  and   a  king  above,   and  the  royal  beasts 

below. 


Ramped  and  roared  the  lions,  with  horrid  laughing  jaws; 
They  bit,  they  glared,  gave  blows  like  beams,  a  wind  went 

with  their  paws; 
With  wallowing  might  and  stifled  roar,  they  rolled  on  one 

another : 
Till  all  the  pit,  with  sand  and  mane,  was  in  a  thunderous 

smother ; 
The  bloody   foam  above  the  bars  came  whizzing   through 

the  air: 
Said  Francis,  then,   "Faith,  gentlemen,  we're  better  here 

than  there." 


322  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

De  Lorge's  love  o'erhearcl  the  king, — a  beauteous,  lively- 
dame. 

With  smiling  lips,  and  sharp,  bright  eyes,  which  always 
seemed  the  same ; 

She  thought,  "The  Count,  my  lover,  is  brave  as  brave  can 
be. 

He  surely  would  do  wondrous  things  to  show  his  love  for 
me; 

King,  ladies,  lovers,  all  look  on;  the  occasion  is  divine; 

I'll  drop  my  glove  to  prove  his  love;  great  glory  will  be 
mine." 

She  dropped   her  glove   to  prove  his  love,  then  looked  at 

him  and  smiled; 
He  bowed,  and  in  a  moment  leaped  among  the  lions  wild; 
The   leap   was  quick,   return   was  quick,   he  soon  regained 

his  place. 
Then   thi-ew    the   glove,    but   not  Avith  love,    right   in   the 

lady's  face. 
"In   faith,"   cried   Francis,    "rightly   done!"   and   he   rose 

from  where  he  sat ; 
"No   love,"  quoth   he,   "but   vanity,  sets  love  a  task  like 

that." 


NoTK. — King  Francis.  This  is  supposed  to  have  been 
Francis  I.  of  France  (b.  1494,  d.  1547).  He  was  devoted  to 
sports  of  this  nature. 


LXXXIX.    THE   FOLLY   OF    INTOXICATION. 

lago.     What,  are  you  hurt,  lieutenant? 

Cassio.     Ay,  past  all  surgery. 

lago.     Marry,  heaven  forbid  ! 

Cos.     Reputation,    reputation,    reputation!     Oh,   I    have 


SIXTH  READER.  323 

lost  my  rei>utation  !  I  have  lost  the  immortal  part  of  my- 
self, and  what  remains  is  bestial.  My  reputation !  lago, 
my  reputation! 

lago.  As  I  am  an  honest  man,  I  thought  you  had  re- 
ceived some  bodily  wound;  there  is  more  sense  in  that 
than  in  reputation.  Reputation  is  an  idle  and  most  false 
imi^osition:  oft  got  without  merit,  and  lost  without  deserv- 
ing: you  have  lost  no  reputation  at  all,  unless  you  repute 
yourself  such  a  loser.  What,  man!  there  are  ways  to  re- 
cover the  general  again.  Sue  to  him  again,  and  he 's 
yours. 

Cas.  I  will  rather  sue  to  be  despised  than  to  deceive  so 
good  a  commander  wit4i  so  slight,  so  drunken,  and  so  in- 
discreet an  officer.  Drunk?  and  speak  parrot?  and  squab- 
ble? swagger?  swear?  and  discourse  fustian  with  one's 
own  shadow?  O  thou  invisible  spirit  of  wine,  if  thou 
hast  no  name  to  be  known  by,  let  us  call  thee  devil ! 

lago.  What  was  he  that  you  followed  with  your  sword? 
What  had  he  done  to  you? 

Cas.     I  know  not. 

lago.     Is't  possible? 

Cas.  I  remember  a  mass  of  things,  but  nothing  dis- 
tinctly; a  quarrel,  but  nothing  wherefore.  Oh  that  men 
should  put  an  enemy  in  their  mouths  to  steal  away  their 
brains!  that  we  should,  with  joy,  revel,  j)leasure,  and  ap- 
plause, transform  ourselves  into  beasts ! 

lago.  Why,  but  you  are  now  W'ell  enough:  how  came 
you  thus  recovered? 

Gas.  It  hath  pleased  the  devil.  Drunkenness,  to  give 
place  to  the  devil,  Wrath ;  one  unperfectness  shows  me 
another,  to  make  me  frankly  despise  myself. 

lago.  Come,  you  are  too  severe  a  moraler.  As  the 
time,  the  place,  and  the  condition  of  this  country  stands, 
I  could  heartily  wish  this  had  not  befallen  ;  but  since  it  is 
as  it  is,  mend  it  for  your  own  good. 

Gas.     I  will  ask   him  for  my  place  again:    he  shall   tell 


324  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

me  I  am  a  drunkard !  Had  I  as  many  mouths  as  Hydra, 
such  an  answer  would  stop  them  alL  To  be  now  a  sensi- 
ble man,  by  and  by  a  fool,  and  presently  a  beast!  Oh 
strange!  —  Every  inordmate  cup  is  unblessed,  and  the  in- 
gredient is  a  devil ! 

lacjo.  Come,  come;  good  wine  is  a  good  familiar  crea- 
ture, if  it  be  well  used ;  exclaim  no  more  against  it.  And, 
good  lieutenant,  I  think  yon  think  I  love  you. 

Gas.     I  have  well  approved  it,  sir, —  I,  drunk! 

lago.  You  or  any  man  living  may  be  drunk  at  a  time, 
man.  I'll  tell  you  Avhat  you  shall  do.  Our  general's  wife 
is  now  the  general.  Confess  yourself  freely  to  her;  im- 
portune her  help  to  put  you  in  your  place  again.  She  is 
of  so  free,  so  kind,  so  apt,  so  blessed  a  disposition,  she 
holds  it  a  vice  in  her  goodness  not  to  do  more  than  she  is 
requested.  This  broken  joint  between  you  and  her  hus- 
band, entreat  her  to  splinter;  and,  my  fortunes  against 
any  lay  worth  naming,  this  crack  of  your  love  shall  grow 
stronger  than  it  was  before. 

Gas.     You  advise  me  well. 

lacjo.  I  protest  in  the  sincerity  of  love  and  honest  kind- 
ness. 

Gas.  I  think  it  freely,  and  betimes  in  the  morning,  I 
will  beseech  the  virtuous  Desdemona  to  imdertake  for  me: 
I  am  desperate  of  my  f  )rtunes  if  they  check  me  here. 

logo.  You  are  in  the  right.  Good-night,  lieutenant,  I 
must  to  the  watch. 

Cos.     Good-night,  honest  lago. 

Shakes'peare. —  Othello,  Ad  ii,  Scene  Hi. 


Notes. — lago  is  represented  as  a  crafty,  unscrupulous  vil- 
lain. He  applies  for  the  position  of  lieutenant  under  Othello, 
but  the  latter  has  already  appointed  Cassio  —  who  is  honest, 
but  of  a  weak  character  —  to  that  position;  he,  however, 
makes   lago    his   ensign.     Then    lago,  to   revenge  himself   for 


SIXTH  READER.  325 

this  and  other  fancied  wrongs,  enters  ujion  a  systematic  course 
of  villainy,  part  of  which  is  to  bring  about  the  intoxication  of 
Cassio,  and  his  consequent  discharge  from  the  lieutenancy. 

The  Hydra  was  a  fabled  monster  of  Grecian  mythology, 
having  nine  heads,  one  of  which  was  immortal. 

Desdemona  was  the  wife  of  Othello. 


XC.    STARVED    ROCK. 

Francis  Parkman,  182.3 ,  the  son  of  a  clergyman  of  the  .same 

name,  was  born  in  Bo.ston,  and  graduated  at  Harvard  University  in  1844. 
Mr.  Parkman  has  spent  more  than  twenty  years  in  a  careful  .study  of 
the  earlj-  French  explorations  and  settlements  in  America ;  and  he 
has  published  the  fruits  of  his  labor  in  six  large  volumes.  Although 
troubled  with  an  aflfection  of  the  eyes,  which  sometimes  wholly  pre- 
vented reading  or  writing,  his  work  has  been  most  carefully  and  success- 
fully done.  His  narratives  are  written  in  a  clear  and  animated  style, 
and  his  volumes  are  a  rich  contribution  to  American  history. 

The  cliff  called  "Starved  Rock,"  now  pointed  out  to 
travelers  as  the  chief  natural  curiositj^  of  the  region,  rises, 
steep  on  three  sides  as  a  castle  wall,  to  the  height  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  above  the  river.  In  front, 
it  overhangs  the  water  that  washes  its  base;  its  western 
brow  looks  dow^n  on  the  tops  of  the  forest  trees  below;  and 
on  the  east  lies  a  wide  gorge,  or  ravine,  choked  with  the 
mingled  foliage  of  oaks,  walnuts,  and  elms;  while  in  its 
rocky  depths  a  little  brook  creeps  down  to  mingle  with  the 
river. 

From  the  rugged  trunk  of  the  stunted  cedar  that  leans 
forward  from  the  brink,  you  may  drop  a  plummet  into  the 
river  below,  where  the  cat-fish  and  the  turtles  may  plainly 
be  seen  gliding  over  the  wrinkled  sands  of  the  clear  and 
shallow  current.  The  cliff  is  accessible  only  from  the 
south,  where  a  man  may  climb  up,  not  without  difficulty, 
by  a  steep  and  narrow  passage.  The  top  is  about  an  acre 
in  extent. 


326  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Here,  in  the  month  of  December,  1682,  La  Salle  and 
Tonty  began  to  entrench  themselves.  They  cut  away  the 
forest  that  crowned  the  rock,  built  store-houses  and  dwell- 
ings of  its  remains,  dragged  timber  up  the  rugged  path- 
Avay,  and  encircled  the  summit  with  a  palisade.  Thus  the 
winter  was  passed,  and  meanwhile  the  work  of  negotiation 
Avent  prosperously  on.  The  miuds  of  the  Indians  had  been 
already  prepared.  In  La  Salle  they  saw  their  champion 
against  the  Iroquois,  the  standing  terror  of  all  this  region. 
They  gathered  around  his  stronghold  like  the  timorous 
peasantry  of  the  Middle  Ages  around  the  rock-built  castle 
of  their  feudal  lord. 

From  the  wooden  ramparts  of  St.  Louis,  —  for  so  he 
named  his  fort,  — high  and  inaccessible  as  an  eagle's  nest, 
a  strange  scene  lay  before  his  eye.  The  broad,  flat  valley 
of  the  Illinois  was  spread  beneath  him  like  a  map,  bounded 
in  the  distance  by  its  low  Avail  of  wooded  hills.  The  river 
wound  at  his  feet  in  devious  channels  among  islands 
bordered  with  lofty  trees;  then,  far  on  the  left,  flowed 
calmly  westAvard  through  the  vast  meadoAvs,  till  its  glim- 
mering blue  ribbon  Avas  lost  in  hazy  distance. 

There  had  been  a  time,  and  that  not  remote,  Avhen  these 
fair  meadows  Avere  a  waste  of  death  and  desolation,  scathed 
Avith  fire,  and  strewn  Avith  the  ghastly  relics  of  an  Iroquois 
victory.  Now,  all  Avas  changed.  La  Salle  looked  doAvn 
from  his  rock  on  a  concourse  of  wuld  human  life.  Lodges 
of  bark  and  rushes,  or  cabins  of  logs,  were  clustered  on 
the  open  plain,  or  along  the  edges  of  the  bordering  forests. 
SquaAVS  labored,  warriors  lounged  in  the  sun,  naked  chil- 
dren Avhooped  and  gamboled  on  the  grass. 

Beyond  the  river,  a  mile  and  a  half  on  the  left,  the 
banks  were  studded  once  more  Avith  the  lodges  of  the  Illi- 
nois, AA^ho,  to  the  number  of  six  thousand,  had  returned, 
since  their  defeat,  to  this  their  favorite  dAvelling-place. 
Scattered  along  the  valley,  among  the  adjacent  hills,  or 
over  the  neighboring   prairie,   Avere  the  cantonments  of  a 


SIXTH  READER.  327 

Iialf-score  of  other  tribes,  and  fragments  of  tribes,  gathered 
under  the  protecting  segis  of  the  French. 

Notes. — The  cuvious  elevation  called  Starved  Rock  is  on 
the  south  side  of  Illinois  River,  between  La  kSalle  and  Ottawa. 
There  is  a  legend  according  to  which  it  is  said  that,  about 
one  hundred  years  ago,  a  party  of  Illinois  Indians  took 
refuge  here  from  the  Pottawatomies ;  their  besiegers,  however, 
confined  them  so  closely  that  the  whole  party  perished  of 
starvation,  or,  as  some  say,  of  thirst.  From  this  circumstance 
the  rock  takes  its  name. 

La  Salle  (b.  1643,  d.  1687)  was  a  celebrated  French  ex- 
plorer and  fur  trader.  He  established  many  forts  throughout 
the  Mississii:)pi  Valley,  —  among  them.  Fort  St.  Louis,  in  1683. 

Tonty  was  an  Italian,  who  formerly  served  in  both  the 
French  army  and  navy,  and  afterwards  joined  La  Salle  in  his 
explorations. 


XCI.    PRINCE   HENRY  AND   FALSTAPP. 

Prince  Henry  and  Poms,  in  a  back  room,   in  a  tavern. 
Enter  Falstaff,  Gadshell,  Bardolph,  and  Peto. 

Poins.     AVelcome,  Jack.     Where  hast  thou  been? 

Falstaff.  A  plague  of  all  cowards,  I  say,  and  a  venge- 
ance too!  marry,  and  amen!  Give  me  a  cup  of  sack, 
boy.  Ere  I  lead  this  life  long,  I'll  sew  nether  stocks,  and 
mend  them,  and  foot  them,  too.  A  plague  of  all  cowards! 
Give  me  a  cup  of  sack,  rogue.  Is  there  no  virtue  extant? 
(He  drinks,  and  then  continues.)  You  rogue,  here's  lime  in 
this  sack,  too;  there  is  nothing  but  roguery  to  be  found  in 
villainous  man:  yet  a  coward  is  worse  than  a  cup  of  sack 
with  lime  in  it.  A  villainous  coward  !  Go  thy  ways,  old 
Jack;  die  when  thou  wilt:  if  manhood,  good  manhood,  be 
not  forgot  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  then  am  I  a  shotten 


328  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

herring.  There  live  not  three  good  men  unhanged,  in 
England;  and  one  of  them  is  fat  and  grows  old;  a  bad 
world,  I  say!  I  would  I  were  a  weaver;  I  could  sing 
psalms,  or  any  thing.  A  plague  of  all  cowards,  I  say 
still. 

Prince  Henry.  How  now,  wool-sack?  What  mutter 
you? 

Fed.  A  king's  son!  If  I  do  not  beat  thee  out  of  thy 
kingdom  with  a  dagger  of  lath,  and  drive  all  thy  subjects 
afore  thee  like  a  flock  of  wild  geese,  I'll  never  wear  hair 
on  my  face  more.     You,  Prince  of  Wales! 

P.  Henry.  Why,  you  base-born  dog!  What's  the 
matter  ? 

Fal.  Are  you  not  a  coward?  Answer  me  to  that;  and 
Poins  there? 

Poins.  Ye  fat  braggart,  an  ye  call  me  coward,  I'll  stab 
thee. 

Fal.  I  call  thee  coward?  I'll  see  thee  gibbeted  ere  I 
call  thee  coward :  but  I  would  give  a  thousand  pounds  I 
could  run  as  fast  as  thou  canst.  You  are  straight  enough 
in  the  shoulders,  you  care  not  who  sees  your  back :  call 
you  that  backing  of  your  friends?  A  plague  upon  such 
backing!  Give  me  them  that  will  face  me.  Give  me  a 
cup  of  sack.     I  am  a  rogue,  if  I  have  drunk  to-day. 

P.  Hem-y.  O  villain!  thy  lips  are  scarce  wiped  since 
thou  drunkest  last. 

Fal.  All's  one  for  that.  A  plague  of  all  cowards,  still 
say  I.     {He  drinks.) 

P.  Henry.     What's  the  matter? 

Fal.  What's  the  matter!  There  be  four  of  us  here 
have  ta'en  a  thousand  pounds  this  morning. 

P.  Henry.     Where  is  it,  Jack?  where  is  it? 

Fal.  Where  is  it?  Taken  from  us  it  is;  a  hundred 
upon  poor  four  of  us. 

P.  Henry.     What!  a  hundred,  man? 

Fal.     I  am  a  rogue,  if  I  were  not  at  half-sword  with  a 


SIXTH  READER.  329 

dozen  of  them  two  hours  together.  I  have  'scaped  by 
miracle.  I  am  eight  times  thrust  through  the  doublet; 
four,  through  the  hose;  my  buckler  cut  through  and 
through ;  my  sword  hacked  like  a  hand-saw ;  look  here ! 
(shows  his  sword.)  I  never  dealt  better  since  I  was  a  man; 
all  would  not  do.  A  plague  of  all  cowards!  Let  them 
speak  (pointing  to  Gadshill,  Bardolph,  and  Peto)  ;  if 
they  speak  more  or  less  than  truth,  they  are  villains  and 
the  sons  of  darkness. 

P.  Henry.     Speak,  sirs;  how  was  it? 

Gadshill.     We  four  set  upon  some  dozen  — 

Fal.     Sixteen,  at  least,  my  lord. 

Gad.     And  bound  them. 

Peto.     No,  no,  they  were  not  bound. 

Fal.  You  rogue,  they  were  bound,  every  man  of  them ; 
or  I  am  a  Jew,  else  —  an  Ebrew  Jew. 

Gad.  As  we  were  sharing,  some  six  or  seven  fresh  men 
set  upon  us  — 

Fal.  And  unbound  the  rest;  and  then  come  in  the 
other. 

P.  Henry.     What !  fought  ye  with  them  all  ? 

Fal.  All?  I  know  not  what  ye  call  all;  but  if  I 
fought  not  with  fifty  of  them,  I  am  a  bunch  of  radish :  if 
there  were  not  two  or  three  and  fifty  upon  poor  old  Jack, 
then  I  am  no  two-legged  creature. 

P.  Henry.  Pray  heaven,  you  have  not  murdered  some 
of  them. 

Fal.  Nay,  that's  past  praying  for;  for  I  have  peppered 
two  of  them ;  two  I  am  sure  I  have  paid ;  two  rogues  in 
buckram  suits.  I  tell  thee  what,  Hal,  if  I  tell  thee  a  lie, 
spit  in  my  face,  and  call  me  a  horse.  Thou  knowest  my 
old  ward;  {he  dratvs  his  sword  and  stamls  if  aboid  to  fight) 
here  I  lay,  and  thus  I  bore  my  point.  Four  rogues  in 
buckram  let  drive  at  me  — 

P.  Henry.  What!  four?  Thou  saidst  but  two  even 
now. 

6.— 28. 


330  ECLECTIC  SEBIES. 

Fal.     Four,  Hal ;  I  told  thee  four. 

Poins.     Ay,  ay,  he  said  four. 

Fal.  These  four  came  all  a-front,  and  mainly  thrust  at 
me.  I  made  no  more  ado,  but  took  all  their  seven  points 
in  my  target,  thus. 

P.  Hehry.  Seven?  Why,  there  were  but  four,  even 
now. 

Fal.     In  buckram? 

Poins.     Ay,  four,  in  buckram  suits. 

Fal.     Seven,  by  these  hilts,  or  I  am  a  villain  else. 

P.  Hairy.  Prithee,  let  him  alone;  we  shall  have  more 
anon. 

Fal.     Dost  thou  hear  me,  Hal? 

P.  Henry.     Ay,  and  mark  thee,  too.  Jack. 

Fal.  Do  so,  for  it  is  worth  the  listening  to.  These  nine 
in  buckram,  that  I  told  thee  of — 

P.  Henry.     So,  two  more  already. 

Fal.  Their  points  being  broken,  began  to  give  me 
ground ;  but  I  followed  me  close,  came  in  foot  and  hand ; 
and,  with  a  thought,  seven  of  the  eleven  I  paid. 

P.  Henry.  0,  monstrous!  eleven  buckram  men  grown 
out  of  two! 

Fal.  But  three  knaves,  in  Kendal  green,  came  at  my 
back,  and  let  drive  at  me ;  for  it  was  so  dark,  Hal,  that 
thou  couldst  not  see  thy  hand. 

P.  Henry.  These  lies  are  like  the  father  of  them;  gross 
as  a  mountain,  open,  2)al2:)ablc.  AVhy,  thou  clay-brained, 
nott-pated  fool ;  thou  greasy  tallow-keech  — 

Fal.  What !  Art  thou  mad !  Art  thou  mad  ?  Is  not 
the  truth  the  truth? 

P.  Henry.  Why,  how  couldst  thou  know  these  men  in 
Kendal  green,  when  it  was  so  dark  thou  couldst  not  see 
thy  hand  ?  Come,  tell  us  your  reason ;  what  sayest  thou 
to  this? 

Poins.     Come,  your  reason,  Jack,  your  reason. 

Fal.     What,  upon  compulsion  ?     No,  were  I  at  the  strap- 


SIXTH  READER.  331 

pado,  or  all  the  racks  in  the  world,  I  would  not  tell  you 
on  compulsion.  Give  you  a  reason  on  conij^ulsion!  If 
reasons  were  as  plentiful  as  blackberries,  I  would  give  no 
man  a  reason  on  compulsion,  I. 

P.  Henry.  I'll  be  no  longer  guilty  of  this  sin:  this  san- 
guine coward,  this  horse-back-breaker,  this  huge  hill  of 
flesh  — 

Fal.  Away!  you  starveling,  you  eel-skin,  you  dried 
neat's  tongue,  you  stock-fish!  Oh  for  breath  to  utter  what 
is  like  thee! — you  tailor's  yard,  you  sheath,  you  bow-case, 
you— 

P.  Henry.  Well,  breathe  awhile,  and  then  to  it  again; 
and  when  thou  hast  tired  thyself  in  base  comparisons,  hear 
me  speak  but  this. 

Poins.     Mark,  Jack, 

P.  Henry.  We  two  saw  you  four  set  on  four;  you 
bound  them,  and  were  masters  of  their  wealth.  Mark 
now,  how  a  plain  tale  shall  put  you  down.  Then  did  Ave 
two  set  on  you  four,  and  with  a  word  outfaced  you  from 
your  prize,  and  have  it;  yea,  and  can  show  it  you  here 
in  the  house. — And,  Falstaff,  you  carried  yourself  away  as 
nimbly,  with  as  quick  dexterity,  and  roared  for  mercy,  and 
still  ran  and  roared,  as  ever  I  heard  a  calf.  What  a  slave 
art  thou,  to  hack  thy  snord  as  thou  hast  done,  and  then 
say  it  -^^as  in  fight !  What  trick,  what  device,  what  start- 
ing-hole, canst  thou  now  find  out  to  hide  thee  from  this 
open  and  apparent  sh^me? 

Poins.  Come,  let's  hear,  Jack.  What  trick  hast  thou 
now  ? 

Fal.  Why,  I  knew  ye  as  well  as  he  that  made  ye. 
Why,  hear  ye,  my  masters :  was  it  for  me  to  kill  the  heir- 
apparent?  Should  I  turn  upon  the  true  prince?  Why, 
thou  knowest  I  am  as  valiant  as  Hercules;  but  beware 
instinct;  the  lion  Avill  not  touch  the  true  prince;  instinct 
is  a  great  matter;  I  was  a  coward  on  instinct.  I  shall 
think  the  better  of  myself  and  thee  during  my  life;   I  for 


332  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

a  valiant  lion,  and  thou  for  a  true  prince.  But,  lads,  I 
am  glad  you  have  the  money.  Hostess,  clap  to  the  doors. 
Watch  to-night,  pray  to-morrow.  Gallants,  lads,  boys, 
hearts  of  gold;  all  the  titles  of  good-fellowship  come  to 
you!  What!  shall  we  be  merry?  Shall  we  have  a  play 
extempore  f 

P.  Henry.  Content;  and  the  argument  shall  be  thy 
running  away. 

Fat.     Ah,  no  more  of  that,  Hal,  an  thou  lovest  me! 

Shakespeare. — Henry  IV,  Part  I,  Act  it,  Scene  iv. 

Notes. — The  lime  is  a  fruit  allied  to  the  lemon,  hut 
smaller,  and  more  intensely  sour. 

The  strappado  was  an  instrument  of  torture  by  which  the 
victim's  limbs  were  wrenched  out  of  joint  and  broken. 

Hercules  is  a  hero  of  fabulous  history,  remarkable  for  his 
great  strength  and  wonderful  achievements. 


XCII.    STUDIES. 

Sir  Francis  Bacon,  1561-1626.  This  eminent  man  was  the  youngest 
son  of  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  lord-keeper  of  the  seal  in  the  early  part  of 
Elizabeth's  reign,  and  Anne  Bacon,  one  of  the  most  learned  \fomen  of 
the  time,  daughter  of  Sir  Anthony  C'ooke.  He  was  born  in  London,  and 
educated  at  Cambridge.  He  was  a  laborious  and  successful  student,  but 
even  in  liis  boyhood  conceived  a  great  distrust  of  the  methods  of  study 
pursued  at  the  seats  of  learning, —  methods  whicli  he  exerted  his  great 
powers  to  correct  in  his  maturer  years.  Much  of  his  life  was  spent  in 
tlie  practice  of  law,  in  the  discharge  of  the  duties  of  high  office,  and  as  a 
member  of  Parliament;  but,  to  the  end  of  life,  he  busied  himself  with 
pliilosophical  pursuits,  and  he  will  be  known  to  posterity  chiefly  for 
his  deep  and  clear  writings  on  these  subjects.  His  constant  direction  in 
pliilosopliy  is  to  break  away  froia  assumption  and  tradition,  and  to  be 
led  only  by  sound  induction  based  on  a  knowledge  of  observed  phe- 
nomeua.  His  "Novum  Organum  "  and  "Advancement  of  Learning" 
embody  his  ideas  on  philosophy  and  the  true  methods  of  seeking 
knowledge. 

Bacon  rose  to  no  very  great  distinction  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth; 
but,  under  James  I,  he  was  promoted  to  positions  of  great  honor  and. 


SIXTH  HEADER.  333 

influence.  In  1618  he  was  made  Baron  of  ^'erula^^ :  and,  three  years 
later,  he  was  made  Visfount  of  St.  Albans.  During  much  of  his  life, 
Bacon  was  in  pocuniarj-  straits,  wliioli  was  doubtless  one  reason  of  his 
downfall;  for,  in  1G21,  he  was  accused  of  taking  bril)es,  a  charge  to  which 
he  pleaded  guiltj'.  His  disgrace  followed,  and  lie  iiassed  the  last  years  of 
his  life  in  retirement.  Among  the  distinguislied  names  in  Englisli  lit- 
erature, none  stands  higher  in  his  department  than  that  of  Francis 
Bacon. 


Studies  serve  for  delight,  for  ornament,  and  for  ability. 
Their  chief  use  for  delight  is  in  privateness,  and  retiring; 
for  ornament,  is  in  discourse;  and  for  ability,  is  in  the 
judgment  and  disposition  of  business;  for  expert  men  can 
execute,  and  perhaps  judge  of  the  particulars,  one  by  one; 
but  the  general  counsels,  and  the  plots  and  marshaling  of 
affairs,  come  best  from  those  that  are  learned. 

To  spend  too  much  time  in  studies,  is  sloth ;  to  use  them 
too  much  for  ornament,  is  affectation  ;  to  make  judgment 
wholly  by  their  rules,  is  the  humor  of  a  scholar;  they 
perfect  nature  and  are  perfected  by  experience  —  for 
natural  abilities  are  like  natural  plants,  that  need  pruning 
by  study;  and  studies  themselves  do  give  forth  directions 
too  much  at  large,  except  they  be  bounded  in  by  experi- 
ence. Crafty  men  contemn  studies,  simple  men  admire 
them,  and  wise  men  use  them,  for  they  teach  not  their  own 
use;  but  that  is  a  wisdom  without  them,  and  above  them, 
won  by  observation. 

Read  not  to  contradict  and  confute,  nor  to  believe  and 
take  for  granted,  nor  to  find  talk  and  discourse,  but  to 
weigh  and  consider.  Some  books  are  to  be  tasted,  others 
to  be  swallowed,  and  some  few  to  be  chewed  and  digested; 
that  is,  some  books  are  to  be  read  only  in  parts;  others  to 
be  read,  but  not  curiously;  and  some  few  to  be  read 
wholly,  and  with  diligence  and  attention.  Some  books 
also  may  be  read  by  deputy,  and  extracts  made  of  them 
by  others;  but  that  would  be  only  in  the  less  important 
arguments,  and  the  meaner  sort  of  books;  else  distilled 
books  are  like  common  distilled  waters,  flashy  things. 


334  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Reading  maketh  a  full  man,  conference  a  ready  man, 
and  writing  an  exact  man;  and,  therefore,  if  a  man  write 
little,  lie  had  need  have  a  great  memory;  if  he  confer 
little,  he  had  need  have  a  i)resent  wit;  and  if  he  read 
little,  he  had  need  have  much  cunning,  to  seem  to  know 
that  he  doth  not.  Histories  make  men  wise;  poets,  witty; 
the  mathematics,  subtle;  natural  johilosophy,  deep;  moral 
philosojjhy,  grave;  logic  and  rhetoric,  able  to  contend. 


XCIII.    SURRENDER   OP   GRANADA. 

Sir  Edward  George  Bulwer-Lytton,  1806-1873,  was  born  in  Norfolk 
County,  England.  His  father  died  wlien  he  was  young;  his  motlier  was 
a  woman  of  strong  literary  tastes,  and  did  much  to  form  her  son's  mind. 
In  1844,  by  royal  license,  lie  took  the  surname  of  Lytton  from  his 
mother's  family.  Bulwer  graduated  at  Cambridge.  He  began  to  publish 
in  1826,  and  his  novels  and  plays  followed  rapidly.  "Pelliam,"  "The 
Caxtons,"  "My  Novel,"  "What  will  he  do  with  it?"  and  "Kenelni 
Chillingly"  are  among  the  best  known  of  his  numerous  novels;  and 
"The  Lady  of  Lyons"  and  "Richelieu"  are  his  most  successful  plays. 
His  novels  are  extensively  read  on  the  continent,  and  have  been  trans- 
lated into  most  of  the  languages  spoken  there.  "  Leila,  or  the  Siege  of 
Granada,"  from  whicli  this  selection  is  adapted,  was  published  in  1840. 

Day  dawned  upon  Granada,  and  the  beams  of  the 
winter  sun,  smiling  away  the  clouds  of  the  past  night, 
played  cheerily  on  the  murmuring  waves  of  the  Xenil  and 
the  Darro.  Alone,  upon  a  balcony  commanding  a  view 
of  the  beautiful  landscape,  stood  Boabdil,  the  last  of  the 
Moorish  kings.  He  had  sought  to  bring  to  his  aid  all  the 
lessons  of  the  philosophy  he  had  cultivated. 

"What  are  we,"  thought  the  musing  prince,  "that  we 
should  fill  the  world  with  ourselves  —  we  kings?  Earth  re- 
sounds with  the  crash  of  my  falling  throne;  on  the  ear  of 
races  unborn  the  echo  will  live  prolonged.  But  what  have 
I  lost  ?  Nothing  that  Avas  necessary  to  my  happiness,  my 
repose:  nothing  save  the  source  of  all  my  wretchedness,  the 
Marah  of  my  life !     Shall  I  less  enjoy  heaven  and  earth, 


SIXTH  READER.  335 

or  thought  or  action,  or  roan's  more  material  luxuries  of 
food  or  sleep  —  the  common  and  the  cheap  desires  of  all? 
Arouse  thee,  then,  O  heart  within  me!  Many  and  deep 
emotions  of  sorrow  or  of  joy  are  yet  left  to  break  the 
monotony  of  existence.  .  .  .  But  it  is  time  to  depart." 
So  saying,  he  descended  to  the  court,  flung  himself  on  his 
barb,  and,  with  a  small  and  saddened  train,  passed  through 
the  gate  which  we  yet  survey,  by  a  blackened  and  crum- 
bling tower,  overgrown  with  vines  and  ivy ;  thence,  amidst 
gardens  now  apj^ertaining  to  the  convent  of  the  victor 
faith,  "he  took  his  mournful  and  unwitnessed  way. 

When  he  came  to  the  middle  of  the  hill  that  rises  above 
those  gardens,  the  steel  of  the  Spanish  armor  gleamed 
upon  him,  as  the  detachment  sent  to  occupy  the  palace 
marched  over  the  summit  in  steady  order  and  profound 
silence.  At  the  head  of  this  van-guard,  rode,  upon  a  snow- 
white  palfrey,  the  Bishop  of  Avila,  followed  by  a  long 
train  of  barefooted  monks.  They  halted  as  Boabdil  ap- 
proached, and  the  grave  bishop  saluted  him  with  the  air  of 
one  who  addresses  an  infidel  and  inferior.  With  the  quick 
sense  of  dignity  common  to  the  great,  and  yet  more  to  the 
fallen,  Boabdil  felt,  but  resented  not,  the  pride  of  the  ec- 
clesiastic. "Go,  Christian,"  said  he,  mildly,  "the  gates  of 
the  Alhambra  are  open,  and  Allah  has  bestowed  the  palace 
and  the  city  upon  your  king;  may  his  virtues  atone  the 
faults  of  Boabdil ! "  So  saying",  and  waiting  no  answer,  he 
rode  on  without  looking  to  the  right  or  the  left.  The 
Spaniards  also  pursued  their  way. 

The  sun  had  fairly  risen  above  the  mountains,  when 
Boabdil  and  his  train  beheld,  from  the  eminence  on  which 
they  were,  the  whole  armament  of  Spain;  and  at  the  same 
moment,  louder  than  the  tramp  of  horse  or  the  clash  of 
arms,  was  heard  distinctly  the  solemn  chant  of  Te  Deum, 
which  preceded  the  blaze  of  the  unfurled  and  lofty  stand- 
ards. Boabdil,  himself  still  silent,  heard  the  groans  and 
exclamations   of  his   train;    he   turned    to   cheer   or   chide 


336  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

them,  and  then  saw,  from  his  own  watch-tower,  with  the 
sun  shining  full  upon  its  pure  and  dazzling  surface,  the 
silver  cross  of  Spain.  His  Alhambra  was  already  in  the 
hands  of  the  foe ;  while  beside  that  badge  of  the  holy  war 
waved  the  gay  and  flaunting  flag  of  St.  lago,  the  canon- 
ized Mars  of  the  chivalry  of  Spain.  At  that  sight  the 
King's  voice  died  within  him;  he  gave  the  rein  to  his  barb, 
impatient  to  close  the  fatal  ceremonial,  and  did  not  slacken 
his  speed  till  almost  within  bowshot  of  the  first  ranks  of 
the  army. 

Never  had  Christian  war  assumed  a  more  splendid  and 
imposing  aspect.  Far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  extended  the 
glittering  and  gorgeous  lines  of  that  goodly  power,  brist- 
ling with  sun-lit  spears  and  blazoned  banners;  while  beside, 
murmured,  and  glowed,  and  danced,  the  silver  and  laugh- 
ing Xenil,  careless  what  lord  should  possess,  for  his  little 
day,  the  banks  that  bloomed  by  its  everlasting  course.  By 
a  small  mosque  halted  the  flower  of  the  army.  Surrounded 
by  the  arch-priests  of  that  mighty  hierarchy,  the  peers  and 
princes  of  a  court  that  rivaled  the  Rolands,  of  Charlemagne, 
was  seen  the  kingly  form  of  Ferdinand  himself,  with  Isabel 
at  his  right  hand,  and  the  high-born  dames  of  Spain,  re- 
lieving, with  their  gay  colors  and  sparkling  gems,  the 
sterner  splendor  of  the  crested  helmet  and  polished  mail. 
Within  sight  of  the  royal  group,  Boabdil  halted,  composed 
his  aspect  so  as  best  to  conceal  his  soiU,  and,  a  little  in 
advance  of  his  scanty  train,  but  never  in  mien  and  majesty 
more  a  king,  the  son  of  Abdallah  met  his  haughty  con- 
queror. 

At  the  sight  of  his  princely  countenance  and  golden  hair, 
his  comely  and  commanding  beauty,  made  more  touching 
by  youth,  a  thrill  of  compassionate  admiration  ran  through 
that  assembly  of  the  brave  and  fair.  Ferdinand  and  Isabel 
slowly  advanced  to  meet  their  late  rival,  —  their  new  sub- 
ject; and,  as  Boabdil  would  have  dismounted,  the  Spanish 
king   placed   his   hand   upon   his  shoulder.     "Brother   and 


SIXTH  HEADER.  337 

prince,"  said  he,  "forget  thy  sorrows;  and  may  our  friend- 
ship hereafter  console  thee  for  reverses,  against  which  thou 
hast  contended  as  a  hero  and  a  king  —  resisting  man,  but 
resigned  at  length  to  God." 

Boabdil  did  not  affect  to  return  this  bitter  but  unin- 
tentional mockery  of  compliment.  He  bowed  his  head, 
and  remained  a  moment  silent;  then  motioning  to  his 
train,  four  of  his  officers  approached,  and,  kneeling  beside 
Ferdinand,  proffered  to  him,  upon  a  silver  buckler,  the 
keys  of  the  city.  "O  king!"  then  said  Boabdil,  "accept 
the  keys  of  the  last  hold  which  has  resisted  the  arms  of 
Spain!  The  empire  of  the  JNIoslem  is  no  more.  Thine  are 
the  city  and  the  people  of  Granada ;  yielding  to  thy  prow- 
ess, they  yet  confide  in  thy  mercy."  "They  do  well,"  said 
the  king;  "our  promises  shall  not  be  broken.  But  since 
we  know  the  gallantry  of  Moorish  cavaliers,  not  to  us,  but 
to  gentler  hands,  shall  the  keys  of  Granada  be  sur- 
rendered." 

Thus  saying,  Ferdinand  gave  the  keys  to  Isabel,  who 
would  have  addressed  some  soothing  flatteries  to  Boabdil, 
but  the  emotion  and  excitement  were  too  much  for  her  com- 
passionate heart,  heroine  and  queen  though  she  was ;  and 
when  she  lifted  her  eyes  upon  the  calm  and  pale  features 
of  the  fallen  monarch,  the  tears  gushed  fi-om  them  irresisti- 
bly, and  her  voice  died  in  murmurs.  A  faint  flush  over- 
spread the  features  of  Boabdil,  and  there  was  a  momentary 
pause  of  embarrassment,  which  the  Moor  was  the  first  to 
break. 

"Fair  queen,"  said  he,  with  mournful  and  pathetic  dig- 
nity, "thou  canst  read  the  heart  that  thy  generous  sym- 
pathy touches  and  subdues;  this  is  thy  last,  nor  least 
glorious  conquest.  But  I  detain  ye ;  let  not  my  aspect 
cloud  your  triumph.  Sufler  me  to  say  farewell."  "Fare- 
well, my  brother,"  replied  Ferdinand,  "and  may  fair 
fortune  go  with  you !  Forget  the  past !  "  Boabdil  smiled 
bitterly,  saluted   the   royal   pair  with   profound   and   silent 

6.-29. 


338  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

reverence,  and  rode  slowly  on,  leaving  the  army  below 
as  he  ascended  the  path  that  led  to  his  new  principality 
beyond  the  Alpuxarras.  As  the  trees  snatched  the  Moor- 
ish cavalcade  from  the  view  of  the  king,  Ferdinand  ordered 
the  army  to  recommence  its  march;  and  trumpet  and  cym- 
bal presently  sent  their  music  to  the  ear  of  the  Moslems. 

Boabdil  spurred  on  at  full  speed,  till  his  panting  charger 
halted  at  the  little  village  where  his  mother,  his  slaves,  and 
his  faithful  wife,  Amine  —  sent  on  before;— awaited  him. 
Joining  these,  he  proceeded  without  delay  upon  his  melan- 
choly path.  They  ascended  that  eminence  which  is  the 
pass  into  the  Alpuxarras.  From  its  height,  the  vale,  the 
rivers,  the  spires,  and  the  towers  of  Granada  broke  glo- 
riously upon  the  view  of  the  little  band.  They  halted 
mechanically  and  abruptly ;  every  eye  was  turned  to  the 
beloved  scene.  The  proud  shame  of  baffled  warriors,  the 
tender  memories  of  home,  of  childhood,  of  father-land, 
swelled  every  heart,  and  gushed  from  every  eye. 

Suddenly  the  distant  boom  of  artillery  broke  from  the 
citadel,  and  rolled  along  the  sun-lit  valley  and  crystal  river. 
A  universal  wail  burst  from  the  exiles;  it  smote,  —  it  over- 
powered the  heart  of  the  ill-starred  king,  in  vain  seeking 
to  wrap  himself  in  Eastern  pride  or  stoical  philosophy. 
The  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes,  and  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands.  The  band  wound  slowly  on  through  the 
solitary  defiles ;  and  that  place  where  the  king  wept  is  still 
called  The  Last  Sigh  of  the  Moor. 


Notes. — Granada  was  the  capital  of  an  ancient  Moorish 
kingdom  of  the  same  name,  in  the  south-eastern  part  of 
Spain.  The  Darro  River  flows  through  it,  emptying  into  the 
Xenil  (or  Jenil)  just  outside  the  city  walls.  King  Ferdinand 
of  Spain  drove  out  the  Moors,  and  captured  the  city  in  1492. 

Marah.     See  Exodus  xv.  23. 

Avila  is  an  episcopal  city  in  Spain,  capital  of  a  province 
of  the  same  name. 


SIXTH  BE  A  DEB.  339 

The  Te  Deura  is  an  ancient  Christian  hymn,  composed  by 
St.  Ambrose;  it  is  so  called  from  the  first  Latin  words,  "  Te 
Deum  laudaraus,"    We  praise  thee,  0  God. 

Mars,  in  mythology,  the  god  of  war. 

The  Alhambra  is  the  ancient  palace  of  the  Moorish  kings, 
at  Granada. 

Allah  is  the  Mohammedan  name  for  the  Supreme  Being. 

Roland,  was  a  nephew  of  Charlemagne,  or  Charles  the 
Great,  emperor  of  the  West  and  king  of  France.  He  was  one 
of  the  mo.st  ftimous  knights  of  the  chivalric  romances. 

The  Alp\ixarras  is  a  mountainous  region  in  the  old  prov- 
ince  of  Granada,  where  the  Moors  were  allowed  to  remain 
some  time  after  their  subjugation  by  Ferdinand. 


XCIV.    HAMLET'S    SOLILOQUY. 

To  be,  or  not  to  be;  that  is  the  question: — 

Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 

The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune, 

Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles. 

And  by  opjjosing  end  them?     To  die, — to  sleep, — 

No  more:  and  by  a  sleep  to  say  we  end 

The  heart-ache  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 

That  flesh  is  heir  to,  —  'tis  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wished.     To  die,  —  to  sleep: — 

To  sleep!  perchance  to  dream: — ay,  there's  the  rub; 

For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come 

When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 

Must  give  us  pause.     There's  the  respect 

That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life; 

For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time. 

The  oppressor's  WTong,  the  proud  man's  contumely, 

The  pangs  of  despised  love,  the  law's  delay, 

The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 

That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes, 


340  ECLECTIC  SEEIES. 

When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 

With  a  bare  bodkin?     Who  would  fardels  bear, 

To  grunt  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life, 

But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death, — 

The  undiscovered  country  from  whose  bourn 

No  traveler  returns, — puzzles  the  will 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have 

Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of? 

Thus  couscience  doth  make  cowards  of  us  all; 

And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 

Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought, 

And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment 

With  this  regard  their  currents  turn  awry, 

And  lose  the  name  of  action. 

Shakespeare. — Hamlet,  Act  Hi,  Scene  i. 


XCV.    GINEVRA. 

Samuel  Rogers,  1763-18.S5,  was  the  son  of  a  Lotadon  banker,  and,  in 
company  with  liis  father,  followed  tlie  banking  business  for  some  years. 
He  began  to  write  at  an  early  age,  and  publislied  his  "Pleasures  of 
Memory,"  perliaps  his  most  famous  M'ork,  in  1792.  The  next  year  his 
fatlier  died,  leaving  liim  an  ample  fortune.  He  now  retired  from  busi- 
ness and  established  himself  in  an  elegant  house  in  St.  James's  Place. 
This  house  was  a  place  of  resort  for  literary  men  during  fifty  years.  In 
1822  he  published  his  longest  poem,  "  Italy,"  after  which  he  wrote  but 
little.  He  wrote  with  care,  spending,  as  he  said,  nine  years  on  the 
"  Pleasures  of  Memory,"  and  sixteen  on  "  Italy."  "  His  writings  are 
remarkable  for  elegance  of  diction,  purity  of  taste,  and  beauty  of  sen- 
timent." It  is  said  that  he  was  very  agreeable  in  conversation  and 
manners,  and  benevolent  in  his  disposition;  but  he  was  addicted  to  ill- 
nature  and  satire  in  some  of  his  criticisms. 


If  thou  shouldst  ever  come  by  choice  or  chance 
To  Modena, — where  still  religiously 
Among  her  ancient  trophies,  is  preserved 
Bologna's  bucket  (in  its  chain  it  hangs 


SIXTH  READER.  341 

Within  that  reverend  tower,  the  Guirlandiue), — 

Stop  at  a  palace  near  the  Reggio-gate, 

Dwelt  in  of  old  hy  one  of  the  Orsini. 

Its  noble  gardens,  terrace  above  terrace, 

And  rich  in  fountains,  statues,  cypresses, 

Will  long  detain  thee ;   through  their  arched  walks, 

Dim  at  noon-day,  discovering  many  a  glimpse 

Of  knights  and  dames  such  as  in  old  romance, 

And  lovers  such  as  in  heroic  song, — 

Perhaps  the  two,  for  groves  were  their  delight, 

That  in  the  si^ring-time,  as  alone  they  sate, 

Venturing  together  on  a  tale  of  love. 

Read  only  j)art  that  day. — A  summer-sun 

Sets  ere  one-half  is  seen ;  but,  ere  thou  go, 

Enter  the  house — prithee,  forget  it  not  — 

And  look  awhile  upon  a  picture  there. 

'Tis  of  a  lady  in  her  earliest  youth, 
The  very  last  of  that  illustrious  race. 
Done  by  Zampieri^ — but  by  whom  I  care  not. 
He  who  observes  it,  ere  he  passes  on, 
Gazes  his  fill,  and  comes  and  conies  again, 
That  he  niay  call  it  up  when  far  away. 

She  sits,  inclining  forward  as  to  speak, 
Her  lijDS  half-oijen,  and  her  finger  up. 
As  though  she  said,  "Beware!"  her  vest  of  gold, 
Broidered  with  flow^ers,  and  clasped  from  head  to  foot, 
An  emerald  stone  in  every  golden  clasji; 
And  on  her  brow,  fairer  than  alabaster, 
A  coronet  of  pearls.     But  then  her  face, 
So  lovely,  yet  so  arch,  so  full  of  mirth, 
The  overflowings  of  an  innocent  heart, — 
It  haunts  me  still,  though  many  a  year  has  fled, 
Like  some  wild  melody ! 


342  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Alone  it  hangs 
Over  a  raoldering  heir-loom,  its  companion, 
An  oaken  chest,  half-eaten  by  the  worm, 
But  richly  carved  by  Antony  of^Trent 
With  scripture  stories  from  the  life  of  Christ ; 
A  chest  that  came  from  Venice,  and  had  held 
The  ducal  robes  of  some  old  ancestors  — 
That,  by  the  way,  it  may  be  true  or  false  — 
But  don't  forget  the  picture;  and  thou  wilt  not. 
When  thou  hast  heard  the  tale  they  told  me  there. 

She  Avas  an  only  child;  from  infancy 
The  joy,  the  pride,  of  an  indulgent  sire; 
The  young  Ginevra  was  his  all  in  life. 
Still  as  she  grew,  forever  in  his  sight; 
And  in  her  fifteenth  year  became  a  bride. 
Marrying  an  only  son,  Francesco  Doria, 
Her  playmate  from  her  birth,  and  her  first  love. 

Just  as  she  looks  there  in  her  bridal  dress, 
She  was  all  gentleness,  all  gayety. 
Her  pranks  the  favorite  theme  of  every  tongue. 
But  now  the  day  was  come,  the  day,  the  hour ; 
Now,  frowning,  smiling,  for  the  hundredth  time. 
The  nurse,  that  ancient  lady,  preached  decorum: 
And,  in  the  luster  of  her  youth,  she  gave 
Her  hand,  with  her  heart  in  it,  to  Francesco. 

Great  was  the  joy;  but  at  the  bridal  feast. 
When  all  sate  down,  the  bride  was  wanting  there. 
Nor  was  she  to  be  found !     Her  father  cried, 
"'Tis  but  to  make  a  trial  of  our  love!" 
And  filled  his  glass  to  all ;  but  his  hand  shook. 
And  soon  from  guest  to  guest  the  panic  spread. 
'Twas  but  that  instant  she  had  left  Francesco, 


SIXTH  READER.  343 

Laughing  and  looking  hack  and  flying  still, 

Her  ivory  tootli  imprinted  on  his  finger. 

But  now,  alas!  she  was  not  to  be  found; 

Nor  from  that  hour  could  any  thing  be  guessed, 

But  that  she  was  not !  — Weary  of  his  life, 

Francesco  flew  to  Venice,  and  forthwith 

Flung  it  away  in  battle  with  the  Turk. 

Orsini  lived ;  and  long  was  to  be  seen 

An  old  man  wandering  as  in  quest  of  something, 

Something  he  could  not  find — he  knew  not  what. 

When  he  was  gone,  the  bouse  remained  a  while 

Silent  and  tenantless  —  then  went  to  strangers. 

Full  fifty  years  were  past,  and  all  forgot, 
When  on  an  idle  day,  a  day  of  seai'ch 
'Mid  the  old  lumber  in  the  gallery, 
That  moldering  chest  was  noticed;  and  'twas  said 
By  one  as  young,  as  thoughtless  as  Ginevra, 
"Why  not  remove  it  from  its  lurking-place?" 
'T  was  done  as  soon  as  said ;  but  on  the  way 
It  burst,  it  fell;   and  lo!  a  skeleton. 
With  here  and  there  a  pearl,  an  emerald  stone, 
A  golden  clasp,  clasping  a  shred  of  gold. 
All  else  had  perished,  save  a  nuptial  ring. 
And  a  small  seal,  her  mother's  legacy. 
Engraven  with  a  name,  the  name  of  both, 

"Ginevra." There  then  had  she  found  a  grave! 

Within  that  chest  had  she  concealed  herself, 
Fluttering  with  joy,  the  happiest  of  the  happy ; 
When  a  spring-lock,  that  lay  in  ambush  there, 
Fastened  her  down  for  ever! 

Notes. — The  above  selection  is  part  of  the  poem,  "Italy." 
Of  the  story  Rogers  says,  "  This  story  is,  I  believe,  founded  on 
fact;  though  the  time  and  place  are  uncertain.  Many  old 
houses  in  England  lay  claim  to  it." 


344  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Modena  is  the  cajjital  of  a  province  of  the  same  name  in 
northern  Italy. 

Bologna's  bucket.  This  is  affirmed  to  be  the  very  bucket 
which  Tassoni,  an  Italian  j^oet,  has  celebrated  in  his  mock  he- 
roics as  the  cause  of  a  war  between  Bologna  and  Modena. 

Reggio  is  a  city  about  sixteen  miles  north-west  of  Modena. 

The  Orsini.     A  famous  Italian  family  in  the  Middle  Ages. 

Zampieri,  Domenichino  (b.  1581,  d.  1641),  was  one  of  the 
most  celebrated  of  the  Italian  painters. 


XCVI.    INVENTIONS  AND   DISCOVERIES. 

John  Caldwell  Calhoun,  1782-1.S.'>0.  This  great  statesman,  and  cham- 
pion of  southern  rights  and  opinions,  was  born  in  Abbeville  District, 
South  Carolina.  In  the  line  of  botli  parents,  he  was  of  Irish  Presby- 
terian descent.  In  youth  he  was  very  studious,  aud  made  the  best  use  of 
sucli  opportunities  for  education  as  tlie  frontier  settlement  aflForded.  He 
graduated  at  Yale  College  in  1804,  and  studied  law  at  Litchfield,  Con- 
necticut. In  1808  he  was  elected  to  the  Legislature  of  South  Carolina; 
and,  three  years  later,  he  was  chosen  to  the  National  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives. During  the  six  years  that  he  remained  in  the  House,  he  took 
an  active  and  prominent  part  in  tlie  .stirring  event.s  of  the  time.  In 
1817  he  was  appointed  Secretary  of  War,  and  held  the  office  seven  years. 
From  1825  to  1832  he  was  Vice-president  of  the  United  States.  He  then 
resigned  this  office,  and  took  his  seat  as  senator  from  South  Carolina. 
In  1844  President  Tyler  called  him  to  his  Cabinet  as  Secret arj'^  of  State; 
and,  in  1845,  he  returned  to  the  Senate,  where  he  remained  till  his  death. 
During  all  his  public  life  Mr.  Calhoun  was  active  and  out-spoken.  His 
earnestness  and  logical  force  commanded  the  respect  of  those  who 
diflFered  most  widely  from  him  in  opinion.  He  took  the  most  advanced 
ground  in  favor  of  "State  Rights,"  and  defended  slavery  as  neither 
morally  nor  polilically  wrong.  His  foes  generally  conceded  his  honesty, 
and  respected  his  ability ;  while  his  friends  regarded  him  as  little  less 
than  an  oracle. 

In  private  life  Mr.  Calhoun  was  highly  esteemed  and  respected.  His 
home  was  at  "Fort  Hill,"  in  tlie  north-western  district  of  South  Caro- 
lina; and  liere  he  spent  all  the  time  he  could  spare  from  his  public 
duties,  in  the  enjoyments  of  domestic  life  aud  in  cultivating  his  planta- 
tion. In  his  home  he  was  remarkable  for  kindness,  cheerfulness,  and 
sociability. 

To  comprehend  more  fully  the  force  and  bearing  of 
public  opinion,  and  to  form  a  just  estimate  of  the  changes 
to  which,  aided  by  the  press,  it  will  probably  lead,  polit- 
ically and  socially,   it  will   be  necessary   to  consider  it  in 


' 


I 


SIXTH  READER.  345 

connection  with  the  causes  that  have  given  it  an  influence 
so  great  as  to  entitle  it  to  be  regarded  as  a  new  political 
element.  They  will,  upon  investigation,  be  found  in  the 
many  discoveries  and  inventions  made  in  the  last  few 
centuries. 

All  these  have  led  to  important  results.  Through  the 
invention  of  the  mariner's  compass,  the  globe  has  been  cir- 
cumnavigated and  explored ;  and  all  who  inhabit  it,  Avith 
but  few  exceptions,  are  brought  within  the  sphere  of  an  all- 
pervading  commerce,  which  is  daily  diffusing  over  its  sur- 
face the  light  and  blessings  of  civilization. 

Through  that  of  the  art  of  printing,  the  fruits  of  obser- 
vation and  reflection,  of  discoveries  and  inventions,  with 
all  the  accumulated  stores  of  previously  acquired  knowl- 
edge, are  preserved  and  widely  diffused.  The  application 
of  gunpowder  to  the  art  of  Avar  has  forever  settled  the  long 
conflict  for  ascendency  between  civilization  and  barbarism, 
in  favor  of  the  former,  and  thereby  guarantied  that,  what- 
ever knowledge  is  now  accumulated,  or  may  hereafter  be 
added,  shall  never  again  be  lost. 

The  numerous  discoveries  and  inventions,  chemical  and 
mechanical,  and  the  application  of  steam  to  machinery, 
have  increased  many  fold  the  productive  powers  of  labor 
and  capital,  and  have  thereby  greatly  increased  the  num- 
ber who  may  devote  themselves  to  study  and  improvement, 
and  the  amount  of  means  necessary  for  commercial  ex- 
changes, especially  between  the  more  and  the  less  advanced 
and  civilized  portions  of  the  globe,  to  the  great  advantage 
of  both,  but  particularly  of  the  latter. 

The  application  of  steam  to  the  purjioses  of  travel  and 
transportation,  by  land  and  water,  has  vastly  increased  the 
facility,  cheapness,  and  rapidity  of  both:  diff'using,  Avith 
them,  information  and  intelligence  almost  as  quickly  and 
as  freely  as  if  borne  by  the  Avinds;  while  the  electrical 
wires  outstrip  them  in  velocity,  rivaling  in  rapidity  even 
thought  itself. 


346  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

The  joint  effect  of  all  this  has  been  a  great  increase  and 
diffusion  of  knowledge ;  and,  with  this,  an  impulse  to 
progress  and  civilization  heretofore  unexampled  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world,  accompanied  by  a  mental  energy  and 
activity  unprecedented. 

To  all  these  causes,  public  opinion,  and  its  organ,  the 
press,  owe  their  origin  and  great  influence.  Already  they 
have  attained  a  force  in  the  more  civilized  portions  of  the 
globe  sufficient  to  be  felt  by  all  governments,  even  the 
most  absolute  and  despotic.  But,  as  great  as  they  now 
are,  they  have,  as  yet,  attained  nothing  like  their  maxi- 
mum force.  It  is  probable  that  not  one  of  the  causes 
which  have  contributed  to  their  formation  and  influence, 
has  yet  produced  its  full  effect;  while  several  of  the  most 
pow^erful  have  just  begun  to  operate;  and  many  others, 
probably  of  equal  or  even  greater  force,  yet  remain  to  be 
brought  to  light. 

When  the  causes  now  in  operation  have  jiroduced  their 
full  effect,  and  inventions  and  discoveries  shall  have  been 
exhausted  —  if  that  may  ever  be — they  will  give  a  force  to 
public  opinion,  and  cause  changes,  political  and  social, 
difficult  to  be  anticipated.  What  will  be  their  final  bear- 
ing, time  only  can  decide  with  any  certainty. 

That  they  will,  however,  greatly  improve  the  condition 
of  man  ultimately,  it  would  be  imjjious  to  doubt;  it  would 
be  to  suppose  that  the  all-Avise  and  beneficent  Being,  the 
Creator  of  all,  had  so  constituted  man  as  that  the  emj^loy- 
ment  of  the  high  intellectual  faculties  with  which  He  has 
been  pleased  to  endow^  him,  in  order  that  he  might  develop 
the  laws  that  control  the  great  agents  of  the  material 
world,  and  make  them  subservient  to  his  use,  would  prove 
to  hira  the  cause  of  permanent  evil,  and  not  of  permanent 
good. 

Note. — This  selection  is  an  extract  from  "  A  Disquisition  on 
Government."  Mr.  Calhoun  expected  to  revise  his  manuscript 
before  it  was  printed,  but  death  interrupted  his  plans. 


SIXTH  HEADER.  347 


XCVII.    ENOCH   ARDEN   AT   THE   WINDOW. 

Alfred  Tennyson,  1809 ,  was  born  in  Somerby,  Lincolnshire,  En- 
gland; his  father  wsus  a  clergyman  noted  for  his  energy  and  physical 
stature.  Alfred,  with  his  two  older  lirothers,  graduated  at  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge.  His  first  volume  of  poems  appeared  in  1830;  it  made 
little  impression,  and  was  severely  treated  by  tlie  critics.  On  the  publi- 
cation of  his  tiiird  series,  in  1812,  his  poetic  genius  began  to  receive  general 
recognition.  On  tlie  death  of  Wordswortli  he  was  made  poet  laureate, 
and  for  several  years  has  been  regarded  as  the  foremost  living  poet  of 
England.  "  In  Memoriam,"  written  in  memory  of  his  friend  Arthur 
Hallam,  appeared  in  1850 ;  the  "  Idyls  of  the  King,"  in  1859 ;  and  "  Enoch 
Arden,"  a  touching  story  in  verse,  from  which  the  following  selection  is 
taken,  was  published  in  1864.  For  several  years,  the  poet's  residence  has 
been  ou  the  Isle  of  Wight. 

But  Enoch  yearned  to  see  her  face  again; 
"If  I  might  look  on  her  sweet  face  again 
And  know  that  she  is  ha^^py."     So  the  thought 
Haunted  and  harassed  him,  and  drove  him  forth, 
At  evening  when  the  dull  November  day 
Was  growing  duller  twilight,  to  the  hill.  . 
There  he  sat  down  gazing  on  all  below; 
There  did  a  thousand  memories  roll  upon  him, 
Unspeakable  for  sadness.     By  and  by 
The  ruddy  square  of  comfortable  light. 
Far-blazing  from  the  rear  of  Philip's  house, 
Allured  him,  as  the  beacon-blaze  allures 
The  bird  of  passage,  till  he  madly  strikes 
Against  it,  and  beats  out  his  weary  life. 

For  Philip's  dwelling  fronted  on  the  street. 
The  latest  house  to  landward ;  but  behind, 
With  one  small  gate  that  opened  on  the  waste. 
Flourished  a  little  garden,  square  and  walled: 
And  in  it  throve  an  ancient  evergreen, 
A  yew-tree,  and  all  round  it  ran  a  walk 
Of  shingle,  and  a  walk  divided  it : 
But  Enoch  shunned  the  middle  walk,  and  stole 


348  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Up  by  the  wall,  behind  the  yew;  and  thence 
That  which  he  better  might  have  shunned,  if  griefs 
Like  his  have  worse  or  better,  Enoch  saw. 


For  cups  and  silver  on  the  burnished  board 
Sparkled  and  shone;  so  genial  was  the  hearth: 
And  on  the  right  hand  of  the  hearth  he  saw 
Philip,  the  slighted  suitor  of  old  times, 
Stout,  rosy,  with  his  babe  across  his  knees; 
And  o'er  her  second  father  stooped  a  girl, 
A  later  but  a  loftier  Annie  Lee, 
Fair-haired  and  tall,  and  from  her  lifted  hand 
Dangled  a  length  of  ribbon  and  a  ring 
To  tempt  the  babe,  who  reared  his  creasy  arms, 
Caught  at  and  ever  missed  it,  and  they  laughed: 
And  on  the  left  hand  of  the  hearth  he  saw 
The  mother  glancing  often  toward  her  babe. 
But  turning  now  and  then  to  sj^eak  with  him, 
Her  son,  who  stood  beside  her  tall  and  strong, 
And  saying  that  which  pleased  him,  for  he  smiled. 


Now  when  the  dead  man  come  to  life  beheld 
His  wife,  his  wife  no  more,  and  saw  the  babe, 
Hers,  yet  not  his,  upon  the  father's  knee. 
And  all  the  warmth,  the  peace,  the  happiness. 
And  his  own  children  tall  and  beautiful. 
And  him,  that  other,  reigning  in  his  place. 
Lord  of  his  rights  and  of  his  children's  love, — 
Then  he,  tho'  Miriam  Lane  had  told  him  all. 
Because  things  seen  are  mightier  than  things  heard, 
Staggered  and  shook,  holding  the  branch,  and  feared 
To  send  abroad  a  shrill  and  terrible  cry. 
Which  in  one  moment,  like  the  blast  of  doom. 
Would  shatter  all  the  happiness  of  the  hearth. 


SIXTH  READER.  349 

He,  therefore,  turning  softly  like  a  thief, 
Lest  the  harsh  shingle  should  grate  underfoot, 
And  feeling  all  along  the  garden-wall. 
Lest  he  should  swoon  and  tumble  and  be  found. 
Crept  to  the  gate,  and  opened  it,  and  closed, 
As  lightly  as  a  sick  man's  chamber-door, 
Behind  him,  and  came  out  upon  the  waste. 
And  there  he  would  have  knelt  but  that  his  knees 
Were  feeble,  so  that  falling  prone  he  dug 
His  fingers  into  the  wet  earth,  and  prayed. 

"Too  hard  to  bear!  why  did  they  take  me  thence? 
O  God  Almighty,  blessed  Saviour,  Thou 
That  did'st  uphold  me  on  my  lonely  isle, 
Uphold  me.  Father,  in  my  loneliness 
A  little  longer!  aid  me,  give  me  strength 
Not  to  tell  her,  never  to  let  her  know. 
Help  me  not  to  break  in  upon  her  peace. 
My  children  too!  must  I  not  speak  to  these? 
They  know  me  not.     I  should  betray  myself. 
Never! — no  father's  kiss  for  me!  —  the  girl 
So  like  her  mother,  and  the  boy,  my  son!" 

There  speech  and  thought  and  nature  failed  a  little, 
And  he  lay  tranced ;  but  when  he  rose  and  paced 
Back  toward  his  solitary  home  again. 
All  down  the  long  and  narrow  street  he  went 
Beating  it  in  upon  his  weary  brain, 
As  tho'  it  were  the  burden  of  a  song, 
"  Not  to  tell  her,  never  to  let  her  know." 

Note. — Enoch  Arden  had  been  wrecked  on  an  uninhabited 
island,  and  was  supposed  to  be  dead.  After  many  years  he  was 
rescued,  and  returned  home,  where  he  found  his  wife  happily 
married  a  second  time.  For  her  happiness,  he  kej^t  his  ex- 
istence a  secret,  but  soon  died  of  a  broken  heart. 


350  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


XCVIII.    LOCHINVAR. 


Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  tlie  west, 
Through  all  the  Avide  Border  his  steed  was  the  best; 
And  save  his  good  broadsword,  he  weapon  had  none, 
He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone ! 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar  I 

He  stayed  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for  stone, 

He  swam  the  Eske  River  where  ford  there  was  none; 

But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 

The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late: 

For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war, 

Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar ! 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  hall. 

Among  brides-men,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers,  and  all : 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword  — 

For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word  — 

"Oh,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar?" 

"I  long  w^ooed  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied;  — 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide — 
And  now  am  I  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine, 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far, 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet;  the  knight  took  it  up, 
He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the  cup. 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up  to  sigh, 


'sixth  reader.  351 

With  a  smile  on  lier  lips,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 
He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  lier  mother  could  bar, 
"Now  tread  we  a  measure!"  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace ; 

While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  fume. 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and  plume; 

And  the  bride-maidens  whispered,  "'Twere  better  by  far 

To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochinvar." 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear. 
When  they  reached  the  hall  door,  and  the  charger  stood  near, 
So  light  to  the  croup  the  fair  lady  he  swung. 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! 
"She  is  won!  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and  scaur: 
They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth  young  Loch- 
invar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby  clan ; 

Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  IVIusgraves,  they  rode  and  they  ran; 

There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  Lee, 

But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see. 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  Avar, 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar? 

—  Walter  Scott. 


Notes. — The  above  selection  is  a  song  taken  from  Scott's 
poem  of  "Marmion."  It  is  in  a  slight  degree  founded  on  a 
ballad  called  "  Katliarine  Janfarie,"  to  be  found  in  the  "  Min- 
strelsy of  the  Scottish  Border." 

The  Sol"way  Frith,  on  the  soutli-west  coast  of  Scotland,  is 
remarkalile  for  its  high  spring-tides. 

Bonnet  is  the  ordinary  name  in  Scotland  for  a  man's  cap. 


352  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


XCIX.    SPEECH    ON   THE    TRIAL   OP   A  MURDERER. 

Against  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  as  an  individual,  I  can 
not  have  the  slightest  prejudice.  I  would  not  do  him  the 
smallest  injury  or  injustice.  But  I  do  not  affect  to  be  in- 
different to  the  discovery  and  the  punishment  of  this  deep 
guilt.  I  cheerfully  share  in  the  opprobrium,  how  much 
soever  it  may  be,  which  is  cast  on  those  who  feel  and 
manifest  an  anxious  concern  that  all  who  had  a  part  in 
planning,  or  a  hand  in  executing  this  deed  of  midnight 
assassination,  may  be  brought  to  answer  for  their  enormous 
crime  at  the  bar  of  jiublic  justice. 

This  is  a  most  extraordinary  case.  In  some  respects  it 
has  hardly  a  precedent  anywhere;  certainly  none  in  our 
New  England  history.  This  bloody  drama  exhibited  no 
suddenly  excited,  ungovernable  rage.  The  actors  in  it 
were  not  surprised  by  any  lion-like  temptation  springing 
upon  their  virtue,  and  overcoming  it  before  resistance  could 
begin.  Nor  did  they  do  the  deed  to  glut  savage  venge- 
ance, or  satiate  long-settled  and  deadly  hate.  It  was  a 
cool,  calculating,  money-making  murder.  It  was  all  "  hire 
and  salary,  not  revenge."  It  was  the  weighing  of  money 
against  life ;  the  counting  out  of-  so  many  pieces  of  silver 
against  so  many  ounces  of  blood. 

An  aged  man,  without  an  enemy  in  the  world,  in  his 
own  house,  and  in  his  own  bed,  is  made  the  victim  of 
a  butcherly  murder  for  mere  joay.  Truly,  here  is  a  new 
lesson  for  painters  and  poets.  Whoever  shall  hereafter 
draAV  the  portrait  of  murder,  if  he  will  show  it  as  it  has 
been  exhibited  in  an  example,  where  such  example  was 
last  to  have  been  looked  for,  in  the  very  bosom  of  our 
New  England  society,  let  him  not  give  it  the  grim  visage 
of  Moloch,  the  brow  knitted  by  r^enge,  the  face  black 
with  settled  hate,  and  the  blood-shot  eye  emitting  livid 
fires  of  malice.     Let  him  draw,  rather,  a  decorous,  smooth- 


SIXTH  READER.  353 

faced,  bloodless  demon;  a  picture  in  repose,  rather  than  in 
action ;  not  so  much  an  example  of  human  nature  in  its 
depravity,  and  in  its  paroxysms  of  crime,  as  an  infernal 
nature,  a  fiend  in  the  ordinary  display  and  development  of 
his  character. 

The  deed  was  executed  with  a  degree  of  self-possession 
and  steadiness  equtri  to  the  wickedness  with  which  it  was 
planned.  The  circumstances,  now  clearly  in  evidence, 
spread  out  the  whole  scene  before  us.  Deep  sleep  had 
fallen  on  the  destined  victim,  and  on  all  beneath  his  roof. 
A  healthful  old  man,  to  whom  sleep  was  sweet,  the  first 
sound  slumbers  of  the  night  held  him  in  their  soft  but 
strong  embrace.  The  assassin  enters  through  the  window, 
already  prepared,  into  an  unoccupied  apartment.  With 
noiseless  foot  he  paces  the  lonely  hall,  half-lighted  by  the 
moon ;  he  winds  up  the  ascent  of  the  stairs,  and  reaches  the 
door  of  the  chamber.  Of  this,  he  moves  the  lock  by  soft 
and  continued  pressure  till  it  turns  on  its  hinges  without 
noise;  and  he  enters,  and  beholds  his  victim  before  him. 
The  room  was  uncommonly  open  to  the  admission  of  light. 
The  face  of  the  innocent  sleeper  was  turned  from  the  mur- 
derer, and  the  beams  of  the  moon,  resting  on  the  gray 
locks  of  his  aged  temple,  showed  him  where  to  strike.  The 
fatal  blow  is  given!  and  the  victim  passes,  without  a  strug- 
gle or  a  motion,  from  the  repose  of  sleep  to  the  repose  of 
death ! 

It  is  the  assassin's  purpose  to  make  sure  work;  and  he 
yet  plies  the  dagger,  though  it  was  obvious  that  life  had 
been  destroyed  by  the  blow  of  the  bludgeon.  He  even 
raises  the  aged  arm,  that  he  may  not  fail  in  his  aim  at  the 
heart;  and  replaces  it  again  over  the  wounds  of  the 
poniard !  To  finish  the  picture,  he  exi)lores  the  wrist  for 
the  jDulse !  He  feels  for  it,  and  ascertains  that  it  beats  no 
longer!  It  is  accomplished.  The  deed  is  done.  He  re- 
treats, retraces  his  steps  to  the  window,  passes  out  through 
it  as  he  came  in,  and  escapes.     He  has  done  the  murder; 

6.-30. 


354  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

no  eye  has  seen  him,  no  ear  has  heard  him.  The  secret  is 
his  own,  and  it  is  safe ! 

Ah!  gentlemen,  that  was  a  dreadful  mistake.  Such  a 
secret  can  be  safe  nowhere.  The  whole  creation  of  God 
has  neither  nook  nor  corner  where  the  guilty  can  bestow  it, 
and  say  it  is  safe.  Not  to  speak  of  that  eye  which  glances 
through  all  disguises,  and  beholds  every  thing  as  in  the 
splendor  of  noon ;  such  secrets  of  guilt  are  never  safe  from 
detection,  even  by  men.  True  it  is,  generally  speaking, 
that  "murder  will  out."  True  it  is  that  Providence  hath 
so  ordained,  and  doth  so  govern  things,  that  those  who 
break  the  great  law  of  Heaven  by  shedding  man's  blood, 
seldom  succeed  in  avoiding  discovery.  Especially,  in  a 
case  exciting  so  much  attention  as  this,  discovery  must 
come,  and  will  come,  sooner  or  later.  A  thousand  eyes 
turn  at  once  to  explore  every  man,  every  thing,  eveiy  cir- 
cumstance connected  with  the  time  and  place;  a  thousand 
ears  catch  every  whisper;  a  thousand  excited  minds  in- 
tensely.  dwell  on  the  scene,  shedding  all  their  light,  and 
ready  to  kindle  the  slightest  circumstance  into  a  blaze  of 
discovery. 

Meantime,  the  guilty  soul  can  not  keep  its  own  secret. 
It  is  false  to  itself,  or  rather  it  feels  an  irresistible  impulse 
of  conscience  to  be  true  to  itself.  It  labors  under  its  guilty 
possession,  and  knows  not  what  to  do  with  it.  The  human 
heart  was  not  made  for  the  residence  of  such  an  inhabitant. 
It  finds  itself  preyed  on  by  a  torment,  which  it  dares  not 
acknowledge  to  God  nor  man.  A  vulture  is  devouring  it, 
and  it  can  ask  no  sympathy  or  assistance  either  from 
heaven  or  earth.  The  secret  which  the  murderer  possesses 
soon  comes  to  possess  him ;  and,  like  the  evil  spirits  of 
which  we  read,  it  overcomes  him,  and  leads  him  whitherso- 
ever it  will.  He  feels  it  beating  at  his  heart,  rising  to  his 
throat,  and  demanding  disclosure.  He  thinks  the  whole 
world  sees  it  in  his  face,  reads  it  in  his  eyes,  and  almost 
hears  its  workings  in  the  very  silence  of  his  thoughts.     It 


SIXTH  READER.  355 

has  become  his  master.  It  betrays  his  discretion,  it  breaks 
down  his  courage,  it  conquers  his  prudence.  When  sus- 
picions from  without  begin  to  embarrass  him,  and  the  net 
of  circumstance  to  entangle  him,  the  fatal  secret  struggles 
with  still  greater  violence  to  burst  forth.  It  must  be  con- 
fessed, it  will  be  confessed;  there  is  no  refuge  from  con- 
fession but  suicide,  and  suicide  is  confession. 

— Daniel  Webster. 

Note. — The  above  extract  is  from  Daniel  Webster's  argu- 
ment in  the  trial  of  John  F.  Knapp  for  the  murder  of  Mr. 
White,  a  very  wealthy  and  respectable  citizen  of  Salem,  Mass. 
Four  persons  were  arrested  as  being  concerned  in  the  con- 
spiracy ;  one  confessed  the  plot  and  all  the  details  of  the 
crime,  implicating  the  others,  but  he  afterwards  refused  to 
testify  in  court.  The  man  who,  by  this  confession,  was  the 
actual  murderer,  committed  suicide,  and  Mr.  Webster's  assist- 
ance was  obtained  in  prosecuting  the  others.  John  F.  Knapp 
was  convicted  as  principal,  and  the  other  two  as  accessaries  in 
the  murder. 


C.    THE    CLOSING   YEAR. 

George  Denison  Prentice,  1802-1870,  widely  known  as  a  political 
writer,  a  poet,  and  a  wit,  was  born  in  Preston,  Connecticut,  and  gradu- 
ated at  Brown  University  in  1823.  He  studied  law,  but  never  practiced 
his  profession.  He  edited  a  paper  in  Hartford  for  two  years;  and,  in  1831, 
he  became  editor  of  the  "  Louisville  Journal,"  which  position  he  held  for 
nearly  forty  years.  As  an  editor,  Mr.  Prentice  was  an  able,  and  some- 
times bitter,  political  partisan,  abounding  in  wit  and  satire;  as  a  poet, 
he  not  only  wrote  gracefully  himself,  but  he  did  much  by  his  kindness 
and  sympathy  to  develop  the  poetical  talents  of  others.  Some  who  have 
since  taken  high  rank,  first  became  known  to  the  world  through  the 
columns  of  the  "Louisville  Journal." 

'Tis  midnight's  holy  hour,  and  silence  now 

Is  brooding  like  a  gentle  spirit  o'er 

The  still  and  pulseless  world.     Hark!  on  the  winds, 

The  bell's  deep  notes  are  swelling ;  't  is  the  knell 

Of  the  departed  year. 


356  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

No  funeral  train 
Is  sweeping  past;  yet,  on  the  stream  and  wood, 
With  melancholy  light,  the  moonbeams  rest 
Like  a  pale,  spotless  shroud ;  the  air  is  stiiTed 
As  by  a  mourner's  sigh;  and,  on  yon  cloud, 
That  floats  so  still  and  placidly  through  heaven, 
The  spirits  of  the  Seasons  seem  to  stand  — 
Young  Spring,  bright  Summer,  Autumn's  solemn  form, 
And  Winter,  with  his  aged  locks  —  and  breathe 
In  mournful  cadences,  that  come  abroad 
Like  the  far  wind-harp's  wild  and  touching  wail, 
A  melancholy  dirge  o'er  the  dead  year, 
Gone  from  the  earth  forever. 


'Tis  a  time 
For  memory  and  for  tears.     Within  the  deep. 
Still  chambers  of  the  heart,  a  specter  dim, 
Whose  tones  are  like  the  wizard  voice  of  Time, 
Heard  from  the  tomb  of  ages,  points  its  cold 
And  solemn  finger  to  the  beautiful 
And  holy  visions,  that  have  passed  away. 
And  left  no  shadow  of  their  loveliness 
On  the  dead  waste  of  life.     That  specter  lifts 
The  coffin-lid  of  Hope,  and  Joy,  and  Love, 
And,  bending  mournfully  above  the  pale. 
Sweet  forms  that  slumber  there,  scatters  dead  flowers 
O'er  what  has  passed  to  nothingness. 

The  year 
Has  gone,  and,  with  it,  many  a  glorious  throng 
Of  happy  dreams.     Its  mark  is  on  each  brow, 
Its  shadow  in  each  heart.     In  its  swift  course 
It  waved  its  scepter  o'er  the  beautiful. 
And  they  are  not.     It  laid  its  pallid  hand 
Upon  the  strong  man;  and  the  haughty  form 


SIXTH  READER.  357 

Is  fallen,  and  the  flashing  eye  is  dim. 

It  trod  the  hall  of  revelry,  where  thronged 

The  bright  and  joyous;  and  the  tearful  wail 

Of  stricken  ones  is  heard,  where  erst  the  song 

And  reckless  shout  resounded.     It  passed  o'er 

The  battle-plain,  where  sword,  and  spear,  and  shield 

Flashed  in  the  light  of  midday;  and  the  strength 

Of  serried  hosts  is  shivered,  and  the  grass, 

Green  from  the  soil  of  carnage,  waves  above 

The  crushed  and  moMering  skeleton.     It  came, 

And  faded  like  a  wreath  of  mist  at  eve; 

Yet,  ere  it  melted  in  the  viewless  air. 

It  heralded  its  millions  to  their  home 

In  the  dim  laud  of  dreams. 

Eemorseless  Time!  — 
Fierce  spirit  of  the  glass  and  scythe!  —  what  power 
Can  stay  him  in  his  silent  course,  or  melt 
His  iron  heart  to  pity !     On,  still  on 
He  presses,  and  forever.     The  proud  bird. 
The  condor  of  the  Andes,  that  can  soar 
Through  heaven's  unfathomable  depths,  or  brave 
The  fury  of  the  northern  hurricane. 
And  bathe  his  plumage  in  the  thunder's  home. 
Furls  his  broad  wings  at  night-fall,  and  sinks  down 
To  rest  upon  his  mountain  crag;  but  Time 
Knows  not  the  weight  of  sleep  or  weariness; 
And  Night's  deep  darkness  has  no  chain  to  bind 
His  rushing  pinion. 

Revolutions  sweep 
O'er  earth,  like  troubled  visions  o'er  the  breast 
Of  dreaming  sorrow ;   cities  rise  and  sink 
Like  bubbles  on  the  water ;  fiery  isles 
Spring  blazing  from  the  ocean,  and  go  back 


358  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

To  their  mysterious  caverns ;  mountains  rear 
To  heaven  their  bald  and  blackened  cliffs,  and  bow 
Their  tall  heads  to  the  plain;  new  empires  rise, 
Gathering  the  strength  of  hoary  centuries, 
And  rush  down,  like  the  Alpine  avalanche. 
Startling  the  nations;  and  the  very  stars, 
Yon  bright  and  burning  blazonry  of  God, 
Glitter  awhile  in  their  eternal  depths. 
And,  like  the  Pleiad,  loveliest  of  their  train. 
Shoot  from  their  glorious  spheres,  and  pass  away. 
To  darkle  in  the  trackless  void ;  yet  Time, 
Time  the  tomb-lniilder,  holds  his  fierce  career, 
Dark,  stern,  all  pitiless,  and  pauses  not 
Amid  the  mighty  wrecks  that  strew  his  path, 
To  sit  and  muse,  like  other  conquerors. 
Upon  the  fearful  ruin  he  has  wrought. 


CI.     A    NEW    CITY   IN    COLORADO. 


Helen  Hunt  Jackson,  1^30 ,  is  the  daughter  of  the  late  Professor 

Nathan  W.  Fiske,  of  Amherst  College.  She  wa.s  born  in  Amherst,  and 
educated  at  Ipswich,  Massachusetts,  and  at  New  York.  Mrs.  Jackson  has 
been  twice  married.  She  published  "Verses  by  H.  H."  in  1871,  "Bits  of 
Travel "  in  1872,  "  Bits  of  Tidk  about  Home  Matters "  in  1873.  She  has 
since  published  "  Bits  of  Travel  at  Home,"  from  which  the  following  se- 
lection is  adapted.  Her  writings  are  sparkling  and  vivacious,  — some- 
limes  extravagant,  but  always  suggestive. 


Garland  City  is  six  miles  from  Fort  Garland.  The 
road  to  it  from  the  fort  lies  for  the  last  three  miles  on  the 
top  of  a  sage-grown  plateau.  It  is  straight  as  an  arrow, 
looks  in  the  distance  like  a  brown  furrow  on  the  pale  gray 
plain,  and  seems  to  pierce  the  mountains  beyond.  Up  to 
within  an  eighth  of  a  mile  of  Garland  City,  there  is  no 
trace  of  human  habitation.  Knowing  that  the  city  must 
be  near,  you  look  in  all  directions  for  a  glimpse  of  it;  the 


SIXTH  HEADER.  359 

hills  ahead  of  you  rise  sharply  across  your  way.  Where  i.-; 
the  city?     At  your  very  feet,  but  you  do  not  suspect  it. 

The  sunset  light  was  fading  when  we  reached  the  edge 
of  the  ravine  in  which  the  city  lies.  It  was  like  looking 
unawares  over  the  edge  of  a  precipice ;  the  gulch  opened 
beneath  us  a«  suddenly  as  if  the  earth  had  that  moment 
parted  and  made  it.  With  brakes  set  firm,  we  drove  cau- 
tiously down  the  steep  road;  the  ravine  twinkled  with 
lights,  and  almost  seemed  to  flutter  with  white  tents  and 
wagon-tops.  At  the  farther  end  it  widened,  opening  out 
on  an  inlet  of  the  San  Luis  Park ;  and,  in  its  center,  near 
this  widening  mouth,  lay  the  twelve-days-old  city.  A 
strange  din  arose  fi-om  it. 

"What  is  going  on?"  we  exclaimed,  "The  building  of 
the  city,"  was  the  reply.  "Twelve  days  ago  there  was  not 
a  house  here.  To<lay  there  are  one  hundred  and  five,  and 
in  a  week  more  there  will  be  two  hundred;  each  man  is 
building  his  own  home,  and  working  day  and  night  to  get 
it  done  ahead  of  his  neighbor.  There  are  four  saw-mQls 
going  constantly,  but  they  can't  turn  out  lumber  half  fast 
enough.  Every  body  has  to  be  content  with  a  board  at  a 
tinie.  If  it  were  not  for  that,  there  would  have  been  twice 
as  many  houses  done  as  there  are." 

We  drove  on  down  the  ravine.  A  little  creek  on  our 
right  was  half  hid  in  willow  thickets.  Hundreds  of  white 
tents  gleamed  among  them :  tents  with  poles ;  tents  made 
by  spreading  sail-cloth  over  the  tops  of  bushes;  round 
tents ;  square  tents ;  big  tents ;  little  tents ;  and  for  every 
tent  a  camp-fire;  hundreds  of  white-topped  wagons,  also,  at 
rest  for  the  night,  their  great  poles  propped  up  by  sticks, 
and  their  mules  and  drivers  lying  and  standing  in  pict- 
uresque groups  around  them. 

It  was  a  scene  not  to  be  forgotten.  Louder  and  louder 
sounded  the  chorus  of  the  hammers  as  we  drew  near  the 
center  of  the  "city;"  more  and  more  the  bustle  thickened; 
great  ox-teams  swaying  unwieldily  about,  drawing  logs  and 


360  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

planks,  backing  up  steep  places;  all  sorts  of  vehicles  driv- 
ing at  reckless  speed  up  and  down;  men  carrying  doors; 
men  walking  along  inside  of  window  sashes,  —  the  easiest 
way  to  carry  them;  men  shoveling;  men  wheeling  wheel- 
barrows; not  a  man  standing  still;  not  a  man  with  empty 
hands;  every  man  picking  up  something,  and  running  to 
put  it  down  somewhere  else,  as  in  a  play;  and,  all  the 
while,  "Clink!  clink!  clink!"  ringing  above  the  other 
sounds, — the  strokes  of  hundreds  of  hammers,  like  the 
"  Anvil  Chorus." 

"Where  is  Perry's  Hotel?"  we  asked.  One  of  the  least 
busy  of  the  throng  spared  time  to  point  to  it  with  his 
thumb,  as  he  passed  us.  In  some  bewilderment  we  drew 
up  in  front  of  a  large  unfinished  house,  through  the  many 
uncased  apertures  of  which  we  could  see  only  scaffoldings, 
rough  boards,  carpenters'  benches,  and  heaps  of  shavings. 
Streams  of  men  Avere  passing  in  and  out  through  these 
openings,  which  might  be  either  doors  or  windows;  no  steps 
led  to  any  of  them. 

"Oh,  yes!  oh,  yes!  can  accommodate  you  all!"  was  the 
landlord's  reply  to  our  hesitating  inquiries.  He  stood  in 
the  door-way  of  his  dining-room;  the  streams  of  men  we 
had  seen  going  in  and  out  W'ere  the  fed  and  the  unfed 
guests  of  the  house.  It  was  supper-time;  we  also  were 
hungry.  We  peered  into  the  dining-room:  three  tables  full 
of  men ;  a  huge  pile  of  beds  on  the  floor,  covered  with  hats 
and  coats;  a  singular  wall,  made  entirely  of  doors  propped 
upright;  a  triangular  space  walled  off  by  sail-cloth,  —  this 
is  what  we  saw.  We  stood  outside,  waiting  among  the 
scaffolding  and  benches.  A  black  man  was  lighting  the 
candles  in  a  candelabra  made  of  two  narrow  bars  of  wood 
nailed  across  each  other  at  right  angles,  and  perforated 
with  holes.  The  candles  sputtered,  and  the  hot  fat  fell 
on  the  shavings  below. 

"Dangerous  way  of  lighting  a  room  full  of  shavings," 
some   one  said.      The  landlord   looked   up  at  the  swinging 


SIXTH  READER.  361 

candelabra  and  laughed.  "Tried  it  pretty  often,"  he  said. 
"Never  burned  a  house  down  yet." 

I  observed  one  peculiarity  in  the  speech  at  Garland 
City.  Personal  pronouns,  as  a  rule,  were  omitted;  there 
was  no  time  for  a  superfluous  word. 

"  Took  down  this  house  at  Wagon  Creek,"  he  continued, 
"just  one  Aveek  ago;  took  it  down  one  morning  while  the 
people  were  eating  breakfast;  took  it  down  over  their 
heads;  putting  it  up  again  over  their  heads  now." 

This  was  literally  true.  The  last  part  of  it  we  ourselves 
were  seeing  while  he  spoke,  and  a  friend  at  our  elbow  had 
seen  the  Wagon  Creek  crisis. 

"Waiting  for  that  round  table  for  you,"  said  the  land- 
lord; "'11  bring  the  chairs  out  here's  fast's  they  quit  'em. 
That's  the  only  way  to  get  the  table." 

So,  watching  his  chances,  as  fast  as  a  seat  was  vacated, 
he  sprang  into  the  room,  seized  the  chair  and  brought  it 
out  to  us;  and  we  sat  there  in  our  "reserved  seats," 
biding  the  time  when  there  should  be  room  enough  vacant 
at  the  table  for  us  to  take  our  jilaces. 

What  an  indescribable  scene  it  was!  The  strange-looking 
wall  of  propped  doors  which  we  had  seen,  was  the  im- 
promptu  wall  separating  the  bedrooms  from  the  dining- 
room.  Bedrooms?  Yes,  five  of  them;  that  is,  five  bed- 
steads in  a  row,  with  just  space  enough  between  them  to 
hang  up  a  sheet,  and  with  just  room  enough  between  them 
and  the  propped  doors  for  a  moderate-sized  person  to  stand 
upright  if  he  faced  either  the  doors  or  the  bed.  Chairs? 
Oh,  no!  What  do  you  want  of  a  chair  in  a  bedroom 
which  has  a  bed  in  it?  Wash-stands?  One  tin  basin  out 
in  the  unfinished  room.     Towels?     Uncertain. 

The  little  triangular  space  walled  ofl'  by  the  sail-cloth 
was  a  sixth  bedroom,  quite  private  and  exclusive;  and  the 
big  pile  of  beds  on  the  dining-room  floor  was  to  be  made 
up  into  seven  bedrooms  more  between  the  tables,  after 
every  body  had  finished  supper. 

«.— 31. 


362  ECLECTIC  SEEIES. 

Luckily  for  us  we  found  a  friend  here, — a  man  who  has 
been  from  the  beginning  one  of  Colorado's  chief  pioneers; 
and  who  is  never,  even  in  the  wildest  wilderness,  without 
resources  of  comfort. 

"You  can't  sleep  here,"  he  said.  "I  can  do  better  for 
you  than  this." 

"Better!" 

He  offered  us  luxury.  How  movable  a  thing  is  one's 
standard  of  comfort!  A  two-roomed  pine  shanty,  board 
walls,  board  floors,  board  ceilings,  board  partitions  not 
reaching  to  the  roof,  looked  to  us  that  night  hke  a  palace. 
To  have  been  entertained  at  Windsor  Castle  would  not 
have  made  us  half  so  gratefuL 

It  was  late  before  the  "city"  grew  quiet;  and,  long  after 
most  of  the  lights  were  out,  and  most  of  the  sounds  had 
ceased,  I  heard  one  solitary  hammer  in  the  distance,  clink, 
clink,  clink.     I  fell  asleep  listening  to  it. 


Cn.    IMPORTANCE   OP   THE   UNION. 

Mr.  PEEsrDE>'T :  I  am  conscious  of  having  detained  you 
and  the  Senate  much  too  long.  I  was  drawn  into  the  de- 
bate with  no  previous  deliberation,  such  as  is  suited  to  the 
discussion  of  so  grave  and  important  a  subject.  But  it  is 
a  subject  of  which  my  heart  is  full,  and  I  have  not  been 
willing  to  suppress  the  utterance  of  its  spontaneous  senti- 
ments. I  can  not,  even  now,  persuade  myself  to  relinquish 
it,  without  expressing  once  more  my  deep  con\nction,  that, 
since  it  respects  nothing  less  than  the  union  of  the  states, 
it  is  of  most  vital  and  essential  importance  to  the  public 
happiness. 

I  profess,  sir,  in  my  career  hitherto,  to  have  kept 
steadily  in  view  the  prosperity  and  honor  of  the  whole 
country,  and  the  preservation  of  our  federal  Union.     It  is 


SIXTH  EEADER.  363 

t«  that  Union  we  owe  our  safety  at  home,  and  our  consid- 
eration and  dignity  aljroad.  It  is  to  that  Union  that  we 
are  chiefly  indebted  for  whatever  makes  us  most  proud  of 
our  country.  That  Union  we  reached  only  by  the  discipline 
of  our  virtues,  in  the  severe  school  of  adversity.  It  had 
its  origin  in  the  necessities  of  disordered  finance,  prostrate 
commerce,  and  ruined  credit.  Under  its  benign  influences, 
these  great  interests  immedmtely  awoke,  as  from  the  dead, 
and  sprang  forth  with  newness  of  life.  Every  year  of  its 
duration  has  teemed  with  fresh  proofs  of  its  utility  and  its 
blessings;  and,  although  our  territory  has  stretched  out 
wider  and  wider,  and  our  population  spread  farther  and 
farther,  they  have  not  outrmi  its  protection  or  its  benefits. 
It  has  been  to  us  all  a  copious  fountain  of  national,  social, 
and  personal  happiness. 

I  have  not  allowed  myself,  sir,  to  look  beyond  the  Union, 
to  see  what  might  lie  hidden  in  the  dark  recess  behind.  I 
have  not  coolly  weighed  the  chances  of  preser\'ing  liberty, 
Avhen  the  bonds  that  unite  us  together  shall  be  broken 
asunder.  I  have  not  accustomed  myself  to  hang  over  the 
precipice  of  disunion,  to  see  whether,  with  my  short  sight, 
I  can  fathom  the  dejith  of  the  abyss  below;  nor  could  I 
regard  him  as  a  safe  coimselor  in  the  aftairs  of  this  govern- 
ment, whose  thoughts  should  be  mainly  bent  on  considering, 
not  how  the  Union  should  be  best  preserved,  but  how  toler- 
able might  be  the  condition  of  the  j>eople  when  it  shall  be 
broken  up  and  destroyed. 

"While  the  Union  lasts,  we  have  high,  exciting,  gi"atifying 
prospects  spread  out  before  us,  for  us  and  our  children. 
Beyond  that,  I  seek  not*  to  penetrate  the  veil.  God  grant 
that  in  my  day,  at  least,  that  curtain  may  not  rise.  God 
grant  that  on  my  vision  never  may  be  opened  what  lies 
behind.  "When  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  behold,  for  the 
last  time,  the  sim  in  heaven,  may  I  not  see  him  shining  on 
the  broken  and  dishonored  fragments  of  a  once  glorious 
Union;    on   States   dissevered,   discordant,    belligerent;    on 


364  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

a  land  rent  Avith   civil   feuds,  or  drenched,  it  may  be,  in 
fraternal  blood. 

Let  their  last  feeble  and  lingering  glance  rather  behold 
the  gorgeous  ensign  of  the  Republic,  now  known  and  hon- 
ored throughout  the  earth,  still  full  high  advanced,  its 
arms  and  trophies  streaming  in  their  original  luster,  not  a 
stripe  erased  or  polluted,  not  a  single  star  obscured  —  bear- 
ing for  its  motto  no  such  miserable  interrogatory  as,  What 
is  all  this  worth?  nor  those  other  words  of  delusion  and 
folly,  Liberty  first,  and  Union  afterwards  —  but  every- 
where, spread  all  over  in  characters  of  living  light,  blazing 
on  all  its  ample  folds,  as  they  float  over  the  sea  and  over 
the  land,  and  in  every  wind  under  the  whole  heavens,  that 
other  sentiment,  dear  to  every  true  American  heart  —  Lib- 
erty and  Union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable! 

— Daniel   Webder. 

Note. — This  selection  is  the  peroration  of  Mr.  Webster's 
speech  in  rejily  to  Mr.  Hayne  during  the  debate  in  the  Senate 
on  Mr.  Foot's  Resolution  in  regard  to  the  Public  Lands. 


cm.    THE   INFLUENCES    OF   THE    SUN. 

John  Tyndall,  1S20 ,  one  of  the  mo.st  celebrated  modern  scien- 

(i.sts,  is  an  Irishman  by  birth.  He  was  a  pupil  of  tlie  distinguished 
Faraday.  In  1853  he  wa.s  appointed  Professor  of  Natural  Philosophy  in 
the  Ro5'al  Institution  of  London.  He  is  known  chiefly  for  his  brilliant 
experiments  and  clear  writing  respecting  heat,  light,  and  .sound.  He  has 
also  written  one  or  two  interesting  books  concerning  the  Alps  and  their 
glaciers.  A  few  years  since,  he  visited  America,  and  delighted  the  most 
intelligent  audiences  by  liis  scientific  lectures  and  his  brilliant  experi- 
ment.s.  The  scientific  world  is  indebted  to  him  for  several  remarkable 
discoveries. 

As  surely  as  the  force  which  moves  a  clock's  hands  is 
derived  from  the  arm  which  winds  up  the  clock,  so  surely 
is  all  terrestrial  power  drawn  from  the  sun.  Leaving  out 
of  account  the  eruptions  of  volcanoes,  and  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  the  tides,  every  mechanical  action  on  the  earth's 


I 


SIXTH  READER.  366 

surface,  every  manifestation  of  power,  organic  and  in- 
Diganic,  vital  and  physical,  is  produced  by  the  sun.  His 
warmth  keeps  the  sea  liquid,  and  the  atmosphere  a.  gas, 
and  all  the  storms  which  agitate  both  are  blown  by  the 
mechanical  force  of  the  sun.  He  lifts  the  rivers  and  the 
uhiciers  up  to  the  mountains;  and  thus  the  cataract  and 
the  avalanche  shoot  with  an  energy  derived  immediately 
fiDm  him. 

Thunder  and  lightning  are  also  his  transmitted  strength. 
Every  fire  that  burns  and  every  flame  that  glows,  dispenses 
light  and  heat  which  originally  belonged  to  the  sun.  In 
these  days,  unhappily,  the  news  of  battle  is  familiar  to  us, 
but  every  shock  and  every  charge  is  an  application  or  niis- 
api)lication  of  the  mechanical  force  of  the  sun.  He  blows 
the  trumpet,  he  urges  the  projectile,  he  bursts  the  bomb. 
And,  remember,,  this  is  not  poetry,  but  rigid  mechanical 
truth. 

He  rears,  as  I  have  said,  the  whole  vegetable  world, 
and  through  it  the  animal;  the  lilies  of  the  field  are  his 
workmanship,  the  verdure  of  the  meadows,  and  the  cattle 
upon  a  thousand  hills.  He  forms  the  muscles,  he  urges 
the  blood,  he  builds  the  brain.  His  fleetness  is  in  the  lion's 
foot;  he  springs  in  the  panther,  he  soai:s  in  the  eagle,  he 
slides  in  the  snake.  He  builds  the  forest  and  hcAvs  it 
down,  the  power  which  raised  the  tree,  and  which  wields 
the  ax,  being  one  and  tlie  same.  The  clover  sprouts  and 
blossoms,  and  the  scythe  of  the  mower  swings,  by  the  oper- 
ation of  the  same  force. 

The  sun  digs  the  ore  from  our  mines,  he  rolls  the  iron; 
he  rivets  the  plates,  he  boils  the  water;  he  draws  the 
train.  He  not  only  grows  the  cotton,  but  he  spins  the 
fiber  and  weaves  the  web.  There  is  not  a  hammer  raised, 
a  wheel  turned,  or  a  shuttle  thrown,  that  is  not  raised,  and 
turned,  and  thrown  by  the  sun. 

His  energy  is  poured  freely  into  space,  but  our  world  is 
a  halting-place  where  this  energy  is  conditioned.     Here  the 


366  ECLECTIC   SERIES. 

Proteus  works  his  spells;  the  self-same  essence  takes  a 
million  shapes  and  hues,  and  finally  dissolves  into  its  prim- 
itive and  almost  formless  form.  The  sun  comes  to  us  as 
heat ;  he  quits  us  as  heat ;  and  between  his  entrance  and 
departure  the  multiform  powers  of  our  globe  appear.  They 
are  all  special  forms  of  solar  power  —  the  molds  into  which 
his  strength  is  temporarily  poured  in  passing  from  its  source 
through  infinitude. 

Note. — Proteus  (pro.  Pro'te-us)  was  a  mythological  divin- 
ity. His  distinguishing  characteristic  was  the  power  of  assum- 
ing different  shapes. 


CIV.    COLLOQUIAL   POWERS   OF   FRANKLIN. 

William  Wirt,  1772-1834,  an  American  lawyer  and  author,  was  born 
at  Bladensburg,  Maryland.  Left  an  orphan  at  au  early  age,  he  was 
placed  in  care  of  his  uncle.  He  improved  his  opijortuuities  for  education 
so  well  that  he  became  a  private  tutor  at  fifteen.  In  1792  he  was  admitted 
to  the  bar,  and  began  the  practice  of  law  in  Virginia;  he  removed  to 
Richmond  in  1799.  From  1817  to  1829  he  was  Attorney-general  of  the 
United  States.  His  last  years  were  spent  in  Baltimore.  Mr.  AVirt  was 
the  author  of  several  books ;  his  "  Letters  of  a  Biitish  Spy,"  published  in 
1803,  and  "  Life  of  Patrick  Henry,"  published  in  1817,  are  the  best  known 
of  his  writings. 

Never  have  I  known  such  a  fireside  companion.  Great 
as  he  was  both  as  a  statesman  and  philosopher,  he  never 
shone  in  a  light  more  winning  than  Avhen  he  was  seen  in 
a  domestic  circle.  It  was  once  my  good  fortune  to  pass 
two  or  three  weeks  with  him,  at  the  house  of  a  private 
gentleman,  in  the  back  part  of  Pennsylvania,  and  we  were 
confined  to  the  house  during  the  whole  of  that  time  by  the 
unintermitting  constancy  and  depth  of  the  snows.  But 
confinement  never  could  be  felt  where  Franklin  was  an 
inmate.  His  cheerfulness  and  his  colloquial  powers  spread 
around  him  a  perisetual  spring. 

When  I  speak,  however,  of   his  colloquial  powers,  I  do 


SIXTH  READER.  367 

not  mean  to  awaken  any  notion  analogous  to  that  which 
Boswell  has  given  us  of  Johnson.  The  conversation  of  the 
latter  continually  reminds  one  of  the  "pomp  and  circum- 
stance of  glorious  war."  It  was,  indeed,  a  perpetual  con- 
test for  victory,  or  an  arbitrary  or  despotic  exaction  of 
homage  to  his  superior  talents.  It  w*  strong,  acute, 
prompt,  splendid,  and  vociferous;  as  loud,  stormy,  and 
sublime  as  those  winds  which  he  represents  as  shaking  the 
Hebrides,  and  rocking  the  old  castle  which  frowned  on  the 
dark-rolling  sea  beneath. 

But  one  gets  tired  of  storms,  however  sublime  they  may 
be,  and  longs  for  the  more  orderly  current  of  nature.  Of 
Franklin,  no  one  ever  became  tired.  There  was  no  ambi- 
tion of  eloquence,  no  effort  to  shine  in  any  thing  which 
came  from  him.  There  was  nothing  which  made  any  de- 
mand upon  either  your  allegiance  or  your  admiration.  His 
manner  was  as  unaffected  as  infancy.  It  was  nature's  self. 
He  talked  like  an  old  patriarch ;  and  his  plainness  and 
simplicity  put  you  at  once  at  your  ease,  and  gave  you  the 
full  and  free  possession  and  use  of  your  faculties.  His 
thoughts  were  of  a  character  to  shine  by  their  own  light, 
without  any  adventitious  aid.  They  only  required  a 
medium  of  vision  like  his  pure  and  simple  style,  to  exhibit 
to  the  highest  advantage  their  native  radiance  and  beauty. 

His  cheerfulness  was  unremitting.  It  seemed  to  be  as 
much  the  effect  of  a  systematic  and  salutary  exercise  of  the 
mind,  as  of  its  superior  organization.  His  wit  was  of  the 
first  order.  It  did  not  show  itself  merely  in  occasional 
coruscations ;  but,  without  any  effort  or  force  on  his  j^art,  it 
shed  a  constant  stream  of  the  purest  light  over  the  whole 
of  his  discourse.  Whether  in  the  company  of  commons  or 
nobles,  he  was  always  the  same  plain  man ;  always  most 
perfectly  at  his  ease,  with  his  faculties  in  full  play,  and 
the  full  orbit  of  his  genius  forever  clear  and  unclouded. 

And  then,  the  stores  of  his  mind  were  inexhaustible. 
He  had  commenced  life  with  an  attention  so  vigilant  that 


368  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

nothiDg  liad  escaped  his  observation ;  and  a  judgment  so 
solid  that  every  incident  Avas  turned  to  advantage.  His 
youth  had  not  been  wasted  in  idleness,  nor  overcast  by  in- 
temperance. He  had  been,  all  his  life,  a  close  and  deep 
reader,  as  well  as  thinker ;  and  by  the  force  of  his  own 
powers,  had  wr*ight  up  the  raw  materials  which  he  had 
gathered  from  books,  with  such  exquisite  skill  and  felicity, 
that  he  has  added  a  hundred  fold  to  their  original  value, 
and  justly  made  them  his  own. 

Notes. — Benjamin  Franklin  (b.  1706,  d.  1790)  was  one  of 
the  most  prominent  men  in  the  struggle  of  the  American  col- 
onies for  liberty.  He  was  renowned  as  a  statesman,  and, 
although  not  an  author  by  profession,  was  a  very  prolific 
writer.  His  "Autobiography,"  which  was  first  printed  in 
France,  is  now  a  household  volume  in  America.     See  page  431. 

Boswell,  James,  (b.  1740,  d  1795,)  was  a  Scotch  lawyer, 
and  is  chiefly  known  as  the  biographer  of  Dr.  Johnson,  of 
whom  lie  was  the  intimate  friend  and  companion. 

Johnson,  Samuel.     See  biographical  notice,  page  78. 


CV.    THE  DREAM   OF   CLARENCE. 

Scene  —  Room  in  the  Toiver  of  London.     Enter  Clarence 
and  Brakenbury. 

Brak.  Why  looks  your  grace  so  heavily  to-day? 

Clar.    O,  I  have  passed  a  miserable  night. 

So  full  of  ugly  sights,  of  ghastly  dreams. 
That,  as  I  am  a  Christian,  faithful  man, 
I  would  not  spend  another  such  a  night, 
.  Though  'twere  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days, 
So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time! 

Brah  What  was  your  dream?     I  long  to  hear  you  tell  it. 

Clar.    Methoughts  that  I  had  broken  from  the  Tower, 
And  was  embarked  to  cross  to  Burgundy; 


SIXTH  READER.  369 

And,  in  my  company,  my  brother  Gloster; 
Who,  from  my  cabin,  tempted  me  to  walk 
Upon  the  hatches;  thence  we  looked  toward  England, 
And  cited  np  a  thousand  fearful  times, 
During  the  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster, 
That  had  befallen  us.     As  we  paced  along 
Upon  the  giddy  footing  of  the  hatches, 
•  Methought  that  Gloster  stumbled;  and,  in  falling, 
Struck  me,  that  thought  to  stay  him,  overboard, 
Into  the  tumbling  billows  of  the  main. 
Oh,  then,  methought,  what  pain  it  was  to  drown! 
What  dreadful  noise  of  waters  in  mine  ears! 
What  ugly  sights  of  death  within  mine  eyes ! 
Methought  I  saw  a  thousand  fearful  wrecks ; 
Ten  thousand  men  that  fishes  gnawed  upon; 
Wedges  of  gold,  great  anchors,  heaps  of  pearl, 
Inestimable  stones,  unvalued  jewels, 
All  scattered  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
Some  lay  in  dead  men's  skulls;    and,  in  those  holes 
Where  eyes  did  once  inhabit,  there  Avere  crept. 
As  'twere  in  scorn  of  eyes,  reflecting  gems. 
Which  wooed  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep. 
And  mocked  the  dead  bones  that  lay  scattered  by. 

Brak.  Had  you  such  leisure  in  the  time  of  death, 
To  gaze  upon  the  secrets  of  the  deep? 

Clar.    Methought  I  had ;  and  often  did  I  strive 

To  yield  the  ghost :  but  still  the  envious  flood 
Kept  in  my  soid,  and  would  not  let  it  forth 
To  seek  the  empty,  vast,  and  wandering  air; 
But  smothered  it  within  my  panting  bulk. 
Which  almost  burst  to  belch  it*  in  the  sea. 

Brak.  Awaked  you  not  W'ith  this  sore  agony? 

Cla/r.    Oh,  no ;  my  dream  w'as  lengthened  after  life ; 
Oh,  then  began  the  tempest  to  my  soul. 
Who  passed,  methought,   the  melancholy  flood, 
With  that  grim  ferry-man  which  poets  write  of. 


370  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Unto  the  kingdom  of  perpetual  night. 
The  first  that  there  did  greet  my  stranger  soul, 
Was  my  great  father-in-law,  renowned  Warwick ; 
Who  cried  aloud,  "What  scourge  for  perjury 
Can  this  dark  monarchy  afford  false  Clarence?" 
And  so  he  vanished.     Then  came  wandering  by 
A  shadow  like  an  angel,  with  bright  hair 
Dabbled  in  blood ;  and  he  shrieked  out  aloud : ' 
"Clarence  is  come!  false,  fleeting,  perjured  Clarence! 
That  stabbed  me  in  the  field  by  Tewksbury: 
Seize  on  him.  Furies,  take  him  to  your  torments!" 
With  that,  methoiights,  a  legion  of  foul  fiends 
Environed  me,  and  howled  in  mine  ears 
Such  hideous  cries,  that,  with  the  very  noise, 
I,  trembling,  waked,  and,  for  a  season  after, 
Could  not  believe  but  that  I  was  in  hell; 
Such  terrible  impression  made  the  dream. 

Brak.  No  marvel,  lord,  though  it  affrighted  you ; 
I  am  afraid,  methinks,  to  hear  you  tell  it. 

Clar.    O  Brakenbury,  I  have  done  those  things. 
Which  now  bear  evidence  against  my  soul. 
For  Edward's  sake ;  and  see  how  he  requites  me ! 
O  God!  if  my  deep  prayers  can  not  appease  thee. 
But  thou  wilt  be  avenged  on  my  misdeeds, 
Yet  execute  thy  wrath  in  mc  alone : 
Oh,  spare  my  guiltless  wife  end  my  poor  children ! 

1  pray  thee,  gentle  keeper,  stay  by  me; 

My  soul  is  heavy,  and  I  fain  would  sleep. 

Brak.    I  will,  my  lord:  God  give  your  grace  good  rest! 

Clarence-  reposes  himself  on  a  chair. 

Sorrow  breaks  seasons  and  reposing  hours. 
Makes  the  night  morning,  and  the  noontide  night. 

Shalcespeare. — Rvcliard  III,  Act  i,  Scene  iv. 


SIXTH  READER.  371 

Notes. — The  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster  were  at  war 
for  the  possession  of  the  English  throne.  The  Duke  of 
Clarence,  and  the  Duke  of  Gloster  were  brothers  of  King 
EJd"ward.  IV.,  who  was  head  of  the  house  of  York.  Clarence 
married  the  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  "Warwick,  and  joined 
the  latter  in  several  insurrections  against  the  king.  They 
finally  plotted  with  Queen  Margaret  of  the  Lancaster  party 
for  the  restoration  of  the  latter  house  to  the  English  tlwone, 
but  Clarence  betrayed  Warwick  and  the  Queen,  and  killed 
the  latter's  son  at  the  battle  of  Tewksbury.  Through  the 
plots  of  Gloster,  Clarence  was  imj^risoned  in  the  Tower  of 
London,  and  there  murdered. 

Brakenbury  was  lieutenant  of  the  Tower. 

The  ferry-man  referred  to  is  Charon,  of  Greek  mythology, 
who  was  supposed  to  ferry  the  souls  of  the  dead  over  the 
river  Acheron  to  the  infernal  regions. 


CVI.    HOMEWARD   BOUND. 

Richard  H.  Dana,  Jr.,  1815-1879,  was  the  son  of  Richard  H.  Dana,  the 
poet.  He  was  born  in  Cambridge,  Mass.  In  his  boyliood  he  had  a  strong 
desire  to  be  a  sailor,  but  by  his  father's  advice  chose  a  student's  life,  and 
entered  Harvard  University.  At  the  age  of  nineteen  an  affection  of  the 
eyes  compelled  hlin  to  suspend  his  studies.  He  now  made  a  voyage  to 
California  as  a  common  sailor,  and  was  gone  two  years.  On  his  return, 
he  resumed  his  studies  and  graduated  in  1837.  He  afterwards  studied 
law,  and  entered  upon  an  active  and  successful  practice.  Most  of  his  life 
has  been  spent  in  law  and  politics,  although  he  has  won  distinction  in 
literature. 

The  following  extract  is  from  his  "Two  Years  before  the  Mast,"  a 
book  published  in  1810,  giving  an  account  of  his  voyage  to  California. 
This  book  details,  in  a  most  clear  and  entertaining  manner,  the  every- 
day life  of  a  common  sailor  on  ship-board,  and  is  the  best  known  of  all 
Mr.  Dana's  works. 

It  is  usual,  in  voyages  round  the  Cape  from  the  Pacific, 
to  keep  to  the  eastward  of  the  Falkland  Islands;  but,  as 
there  had  now  set  in  a  strong,  steady,  and  clear  south- 
wester,  with  every  prospect  of  its  lasting,  and  we  had  had 
enough  of  high  latitudes,  the  captain  determined  to  stand 
immediately  to  the  northward,  running  inside  the  Falkland 


372  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Islands.  Accordingly,  when  the  wheel  was  relieved  at 
eight  o'clock,  the  order  was  given  to  keep  her  due  north, 
and  all  hands  were  turned  up  to  square  away  the  yards 
and  make  sail. 

In  a  moment  the  news  ran  through  the  ship  that  the 
captain  was  keeping  her  off,  with  her  nose  straight  for 
Boston,  and  Cape  Horn  over  her  taffrail.  It  was  a 
moment  of  enthusiasm.  Every  one  was  on  the  alert,  and 
even  the  two  sick  men  turned  out  to  lend  a  hand  at  the 
halyards.  The  wind  was  now  due  south-west,  and  blowing 
a  gale  to  which  a  vessel  close-hauled  could  have  shown  no 
more  than  a  single  close-reefed  sail ;  but  as  we  were  going 
before  it,  we  could  carry  on.  Accordingly,  hands  were 
sent  aloft  and  a  reef  shaken  out  of  the  top-sails,  and  the 
reefed  foresail  set.  When  we  came  to  mast-head  the  top- 
sail yards,  with  all  hands  at  the  halyards,  Ave  struck  up, 
"  Cheerly,  men,"  with  a  chorus  which  might  have  been 
heard  half-way  to  Staten  Island. 

Under  her  increased  sail,  the  ship  drove  on  through  the 
water.  Yet  she  could  bear  it  well;  and  the  captain  sang 
out  from  the  quarter-deck — "Another  reef  out  of  that 
fore  top-sail,  and  give  it  to  her."  Two  hands  sprang  aloft; 
the  frozen  reef-points  and  earings  were  cast  adrift,  the  hal- 
yards manned,  and  the  sail  gave  out  her  increased  canvas 
to  the  gale.  All  hands  were  kept  on  deck  to  watch  the 
effect  of  the  change.  It  was  as  much  as  she  could  well 
carry,  and  with  a  heavy  sea  astern,  it  took  two  men  at  the 
wheel  to  steer  her. 

She  flung  the  foam  from  her  bows;  the  spray  breaking 
aft  as  far  as  the  gangway.  She  was  going  at  a  prodigious 
rate.  Still,  every  thing  held.  Preventer  braces  were 
reeved  and  hauled  taut;  tackles  got  upon  the  backstays; 
and  every  thing  done  to  keep  all  snug  and  strong.  The 
captain  walked  the  deck  at  a  rapid  stride,  looked  aloft  at 
the  sails,  and  then  to  windward ;  the  mate  stood  in  the 
gangway,    rubbing   his    hands,   and    talking    aloud    to    the 


SIXTH  READER.  373 

ship  —  "Hurrah,  old  bucket!  the  Boston  girls  have  got 
hold  of  the  tow-rope!"  and  the  like;  and  we  were  on  the 
forecastle,  looking  to  see  how  the  spars  stood  it,  and  guess- 
ing the  rate  at  which  she  was  going,  —  when  the  captain 
called  out — "Mr.  Brown,  get  up  the  top-mast  studding- 
sail  !     What  she  can't  carry  she  may  drag ! " 

The  mate  looked  a  moment ;  but  he  would  let  no  one  be 
before  him  in  daring.  He  sprang  forward,  —  "Hurrah, 
men !  rig  out  the  top-mast  studding-sail  boom !  Lay  aloft, 
and  I  '11  send  the  rigging  up  to  you ! "  We  sprang  aloft 
into  the  top;  lowered  a  girt-line  down,  by  which  we  hauled 
up  the  rigging ;  rove  the  tacks  and  halyards ;  ran  out  the 
boom  and  lashed  it  fast,  and  sent  down  the  lower  halyards 
as  a  preventer.  It  was  a  clear  starlight  night,  cold  and 
blowing ;  but  every  body  worked  with  a  will.  Some, 
indeed,  looked  as  though  they  thought  the  "old  man" 
was  mad,  but  no  one  said  a  word. 

We  had  had  a  new  top-mast  studding-sail  made  with  a 
reef  in  it, — a  thing  hardly  ever  heard  of,  and  which  the 
sailors  had  ridiculed  a  good  deal,  saying  that  when  it  was 
time  to  reef  a  studding-sail  it  was  time  to  take  it  in.  But 
we  found  a  use  for  it  now ;  for,  there  being  a  reef  in  the 
top-sail,  the  studding-sail  could  not  be  set  without  one  in  it 
also.  To  be  sure,  a  studding-sail  with  reefed  top-sails  was 
rather  a  novelty;  yet  chere  was  some  reason  in  it,  for  if  we 
carried  that  away,  we  should  lose  only  a  sail  and  a  boom ; 
but  a  whole  top-sail  might  have  carried  away  the  mast 
and  all. 

While  we  were  aloft,  the  sail  had  been  got  out,  bent  to 
the  yard,  reefed,  and  ready  for  hoisting.  Waiting  for  a 
good  opportunity,  the  halyards  were  manned  and  the  yard 
hoisted  fairly  up  to  the  block;  but  when  the  mate  came  to 
shake  the  cat's-paw  out  of  the  downhaul,  and  we  began  to 
boom-end  the  sail,  it  shook  the  ship  to  her  center.  The 
boom  buckled  up  and  bent  like  a  whip-stick,  and  we 
looked  every  moment  to  see  something  go;    but,  being  of 


374  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

the  short,  tough  upland  spruce,  it  bent  like  whalebone, 
and  nothing  could  break  it.  The  carpenter  said  it  was  the 
best  stick  he  had  ever  seen. 

The  strength  of  all  hands  soon  brought  the  tack  to  the 
boom-end,  and  the  sheet  was  trimmed  down,  and  the  pre- 
venter and  the  weather-brace  hauled  taut  to  take  off  the 
strain.  Every  rope-yarn  seemed  stretched  to  the  utmost, 
and  every  thread  of  canvas ;  and  with  this  sail  added  to 
her,  the  ship  sprang  through  the  water  like  a  thing  pos- 
sessed. The  sail  being  nearly  all  forward,  it  lifted  her  out 
of  the  water,  and  she  seemed  actually  to  jump  from  sea  to 
sea.  From  the  time  her  keel  was  laid,  she  had  never  been 
so  driven;  and  had  it  been  life  or  death  with  every  one  of 
us,  she  could  not  have  borne  another  stitch  of  canvas. 

Finding  that  she  would  bear  the  sail,  the  hands  were 
sent  below,  and  our  watch  remained  on  deck.  Two  men 
at  the  wheel  had  as  much  as  they  could  do  to  keep  her 
within  three  points  of  her  course,  for  she  steered  as  wild  as 
a  young  colt.  The  mate  walked  the  deck,  looking  at  the 
sails,  and  then  over  the  side  to  see  the  foam  fly  by  her, — • 
slapping  his  hands  upon  his  thighs  and  talking  to  the 
ship  —  "Hurrah,  you  jade,  you've  got  the  scent!  you 
know  where  you're  going!"  And  when  she  leaped  over 
the  seas,  and  almost  out  of  the  water,  and  trembled  to  her 
very  keel,  the  spars  and  masts  snapping  and  creaking, — 
"There  she  goes!  —  There  she  goes  —  handsomely!  —  As 
long  as  she  cracks,  she  holds!"  —  while  we  stood  with  the 
rigging  laid  down  fair  for  letting  go,  and  ready  to  take  in 
sail  and  clear  away  if  any  thing  went. 

At  four  bells  we  hove  the  log,  and  she  was  going  eleven 
knots  fairly;  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  sea  from  aft 
which  sent  the  chip  home,  and  threw  her  continually  off 
her  course,  the  log  would  have  shown  her  to  have  been 
going  somewhat  faster.  I  Avent  to  the  wheel  with  a  young 
fellow  from  the  Kennebec,  who  was  a  good  helmsman  :  and 
for   two   hours   we   had   our   hands   full.      A    few   minutes 


SIXTH  READER.  375 

showed  us  that  our  monkey-jackets  must  come  oft*;  and,  cold 
as  it  was,  we  stood  in  our  shirt-sleeves  in  a  perspiration, 
and  were  glad  enough  to  have  it  eight  bells  and  the  wheels 
relieved.  We  turned  in  and  slept  as  well  as  we  could, 
though  the  sea  made  a  constant  roar  under  her  bows,  and 
washed  over  the  forecastle  like  a  small  cataract. 

Notes. — The  Falkland  Islands  are  a  groui)  in  the  At- 
lantic just  east  of  Cajje  Horn. 

Bells.  On  shipboard  time  is  counted  in  bells,  the  bell 
being  struck  every  half  hour. 


CVII.    IMPEACHMENT    OF   WARREN    HASTINGS. 

Thomas  Babington  Macaulay,  1800-1859,  was  born  in  the  village  of 
Rothley,  Leicestershire.  On  his  father's  side,  he  descended  from  Scotch 
Highlanders  and  ministers  of  the  kirk.  His  education  began  at  liome, 
and  was  completed  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  While  a  student,  he 
gained  much  reputation  as  a  writer  and  a  debater.  In  1826  lie  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  bar.  In  1825  began  his  connection  with  the  "  Edinburgh 
Review,"  which  continued  twenty  years.  Some  of  his  most  brilliant 
essays  appeared  first  in  its  pages.  He  was  first  chosen  to  Parliament  in 
1830,  and  was  re-elected  several  times.  In  1840  his  essays  and  some  other 
writings  were  collected  and  published  with  the  title  of  "  Miscellanies." 
His  "  Laj-s  of  Ancient  Rome"  was  published  in  1842.  His  "History  of 
England  "  was  published  near  the  close  of  his  life.  In  1857  lie  was  given 
the  title  of  Baron  Macaulay.  "His  stj'le  i.s  vigorous,  rapid  in  its  move- 
ment, and  brihiant ;  and  yet,  with  all  its  splendor,  has  a  crystalline  clear- 
ness. Indeed,. the  fauh  generally  found  with  his  style  is,  that  it  is  so 
constantly  brilliant  that  the  vision  is  dazzled  and  wearied  with  its  ex- 
cessive brightness."  He  has  sometimes  been  charged  with  sacrificing 
facts  to  fine  sentences. 

In  his  statesmansliip,  Macaulay  was  always  an  earnest  defender  of 
liberty.  His  first  speech  in  Parliament  was  in  support  of  a  bill  to  re- 
move the  civil  disabilities  of  the  Jews,  and  his  whole  parliamentary 
career  was  consistent  with  this  wise  and  liberal  beginning. 

The  place  in  which  the  impeachment  of  Warren  Hast- 
ings was  conducted,  was  worthy  of  such  a  trial.  It  was 
the  great  hall  of  William  Rufus;  the  hall  which  had  re- 
sounded   with   acclamations   at   the  inauguration   of   thirty 


376  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

kings ;  the  hall  which  had  witnessed  the  just  sentence  of 
Bacon,  and  the  just  absolution  of  Somers;  the  hall  where 
the  eloquence  of  Strafford  had  for  a  moment  awed  and 
melted  a  victorious  party  inflamed  with  just  resentment; 
the  hall  where  Charles  had  confronted  the  High  Court  of 
Justice  with  the  placid  courage  which  half  redeemed  his 
fame. 

Neither  military  nor  civil  pomp  was  wanting.  The 
avenues  were  lined  with  grenadiers.  The  streets  were  kept 
clear  by  cavalry.  The  peers,  robed  in  gold  and  ermine, 
were  marshaled  by  heralds.  The  judges,  in  their  vestments 
of  state,  attended  to  give  advice  on  points  of  law.  The 
long  galleries  were  crowded  by  such  an  audience  as  has 
rarely  excited  the  fears  or  the  emulation  of  an  orator. 
There  were  gathered  together,  from  all  parts  of  a  great, 
free,  enlightened,  and  2)rosperous  realm,  grace  and  female 
loveliness,  wit  and  learning,  the  representatives  of  every 
science  and  of  every  art. 

Tliere  were  seated  around  the  queen,  the  fair-haired, 
young  daughters  of  the  house  of  Brunswick.  There  the 
embassadors  of  great  kings  and  commonwealths  gazed  with 
admiration  on  a  spectacle  which  no  other  country  in  the 
world  could  present.  There  Siddons,  in  the  prime  of  her 
majestic  beauty,  looked  with  emotion  on  a  scene  surpassing 
all  the  imitations  of  the  stage.  There  Gibbon,  the  his- 
torian of  the  Roman  Empire,  thought  of  the  days  when 
Cicero  pleaded  the  cause  of  Sicily  against  Verres;  and 
when,  before  a  senate  which  had  still  some  show  of 
freedom,  Tacitus  thundered  against  the  oppressor  of  Africa. 
There,  too,  were  seen,  side  by  side,  the  greatest  painter 
and  the  greatest  scholar  of  the  age;  for  the  spectacle 
liad  allured  Reynolds  from  his  easel  and  Parr  from  his 
study. 

The  sergeants  made  proclamation.  Hastings  advanced  to 
the  bar,  and  bent  his  knee.  The  culprit  was  indeed  not 
unworthy  of  that  great  presence.     He  had  ruled  an  exten- 


SIXTH  READER.  377 

sive  and  populous  country;  had  made  laws  and  treaties; 
had  sent  forth  armies ;  had  set  up  and  pulled  down 
princes;  and  in  his  high  place  he  had  so  borne  himself,  that 
all  had  feared  him,  that  most  had  loved  him,  and  that 
hatred  itself  could  deny  him  no  title  to  glory,  except 
virtue.  A  person,  small  and  emaciated,  yet  deriving  dig- 
nity from  a  carriage  which,  while  it  indicated  deference  to 
the  court,  indicated,  also,  habitual  self-possession  and  self- 
respect  ;  a  high  and  intellectual  forehead ;  a  brow,  pensive, 
but  not  gloomy ;  a  mouth  of  inflexible  decision ;  a  face, 
pale  and  worn,  but  serene,  on  which  a  great  and  well- 
balanced  mind  was  legibly  written:  such  was  the  asj^ect 
with  which  the  great  proconsul  presented  himself  to  his 
judges. 

The  charges,  and  the  answers  of  Hastings,  were  first 
read.  This  ceremony  occupied  two  whole  days.  On  the 
third,  Burke  rose.  Four  sittings  of  the  court  were  occu- 
pied by  bis  opening  speech,  which  was  intended  to  be  a 
general  introduction  to  all  the  charges.  With  an  exuber- 
ance of  thought  and  a  splendor  of  diction,  which  more 
than  satisfied  the  highly  raised  expectations  of  the  audi- 
ence, he  described  the  character  and  institutions  of  the 
natives  of  India ;  recounted  the  circumstances  in  which  the 
Asiatic  Empire  of  Britain  had  originated;  and  set  forth 
the  constitution  of  the  Company  and  of  the  English  Presi- 
dencies. 

Having  thus  attempted  to  communicate  to  his  hearers 
an  idea  of  eastern  society,  as  vivid  as  that  which  existed  in 
his  own  mind,  he  proceeded  to  arraign  the  administration 
of  Hastings,  as  systematically  conducted  in  defiance  of 
morality  and  public  law.  The  energy  and  pathos  of  the 
great  orator  extorted  expressions  of  unwonted  admiration 
from  all ;  and,  for  a  moment,  seemed  to  pierce  even  the 
resolute  heart  of  the  defendant.  The  ladies  in  the  galler- 
ies, unaccustomed  to  such  disj^lays  of  eloquence,  excited  by 
the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  and  perhaps  not  unwilling  to 

6.-S2. 


378  ECLECTIC  SEBIES. 

display  their  taste  and  sensibility,  were  in  a  state  of  uncon- 
trollable emotion.  Handkerchiefs  were  pulled  out;  smell- 
ing-bottles were  handed  round;  hysterical  sobs  and  screams 
were  heard,  and  some  were  even  carried  out  in  fits. 

At  length  the  orator  concluded.  Raising  his  voice,  till 
tlie  old  arches  of  Irish  oak  resounded  —  "Therefore,"  said 
he,  "hath  it  with  all  confidence  been  ordered  by  the  Com- 
mons of  Great  Britain,  that  I  impeach  Warren  Hastings 
of  high  crimes  and  misdemeanors.  I  impeach  him  in  the 
name  of  the  Commons  House  of  Parliament,  whose  trust 
he  has  betrayed.  I  impeach  him  m  the  name  of  the  En- 
glish nation,  whose  ancient  honor  he  has  sullied.  I  im- 
peach him  in  the  name  of  the  people  of  India,  whose 
rights  he  has  trodden  under  foot,  and  whose  country  he 
has  turned  into  a  desert.  Lastly,  in  the  name  of  human 
nature  itself,  in  the  name  of  both  sexes,  in  the  name  of 
every  age,  in  the  name  of  every  rank,  I  impeach  the 
common  enemy  and  oppressor  of  all." 

Notes. — Warren  Hastings  (b.  1732,  d.  1818)  was  Governor- 
general  of  British  India.  He  was  impeached  for  maladmin- 
istration, but,  after  a  trial  which  extended  fi-om  Feb.  13th, 
1788,  to  April  23d,  1795,  and  occupied  one  hundred  and  forty- 
eight  days,  he  was  acquitted  by  a  large  majority  on  each  sep- 
arate count  of  the  impeachment. 

William  Rufus,  or  William  II.  (b.  1056,  d.  1100),built  West- 
minster  Hall  in  which  the  trial  was  held.  Bacon;  see  bio- 
graphical notice,  pages  332  and  333.  Somers,  John  (b.  1651, 
d.  1716)  was  impeached  for  maladministration  while  holding 
the  office  of  lord  chamberlain.  Strafford,  Thomas  Went- 
worth,  earl  of,  (b.  1593,  d.  1641,)  was  impeached  for  his  mis- 
management while  governor  of  Ireland.  He  conducted  his 
own  defense  with  such  eloquence  that  the  original  impeach- 
ment was  abandoned,  although  he  was  immediately  con- 
demned for  high  treason  and  executed.  Charles  I.  (b.  1600, 
d.  1649),  aft«r  a  war  with  Parliament,  in  which  the  rights  of 
the  people  were  at  issue,  was  captured,  tried,  and  condemned 
to  death. 


SIXTH  BEADEE.  379 

The  House  of  Brunswick  is  one  of  the  oldest  families  of 
Germany.  A  branch  of  this  family  occupies  the  British  throne. 
Siddons,  Sarah  (b.  1755,  d.  1831),  was  a  famous  English  act- 
ress. Gibbon,  Edward  (b.  1737,  d.  1794),  was  a  celebrated 
English  historian.  Cicero ;  see  note  on  page  156.  Tacitus 
(b.  about  55,  d.  after  117  A.  D.)  was  a  Eoman  orator  and  his- 
torian, who  conducted  the  prosecution  of  Marius,  proconsul  of 
Africa.  Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua  (b.  1723,  d.  1792),  an  English 
portrait-painter  of  note.  Parr,  Samuel  (b.  1747,  d.  1825),  was 
an  English  author.  Burke,  Edmund;  see  biographical  sketch 
accompanying  the  following  lesson. 


CVIII.    DESTRUCTION    OF   THE    CARNATIC. 

Edmund  Burke,  1730-1797,  one  of  the  most  able  and  biilliant  of  En- 
gland's e.s.sayi.sts,  orators,  and  statesmen,  was  born  in  Dublin,  and  was  the 
son  of  an  able  lawyer.  He  graduated  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  in  1748. 
As  a  student,  he  was  distinguished  for  ability  and  industry.  From  1750 
to  1766  he  was  in  London  writing  for  periodicals,  publishing  books,  or 
serving  as  private  .secretary.  His  work  on  "  The  Sublime  and  Beautiful  " 
appeared  in  17.56.  From  176G  to  1794  he  was  a  member  of  I\irliament,  rep- 
resenting at  different  times  different  constituencies.  On  the  first  day  of 
his  appearance  in  the  House  of  Commons  he  made  a  successful  speech. 
"  In  the  three  principal  questions  which  excited  his  interest,  and  called 
forth  the  most  splendid  displays  of  hrs  eloriuence  — the  contest  with  the 
American  Colonies,  the  impeachment  of  Warren  Hastings,  and  the 
French  Revolution  —  we  see  displayed  a  philanthropy  the  most  pure, 
illustrated  by  a  genius  the  mo.st  resijlendent."  Mr.  Burke's  foresight, 
uprightness,  integrity,  learning,  magnanimity,  and  eloquence  made  him 
one  of  the  most  conspicuous  men  of  his  timej  and  his  writings  stand 
among  the  noblest  contributions  to  English  literature. 

When  at  length  Hyder  Ali  found  that  he  had  to  do 
with  men  who  either  would  sign  no  convention,  or  whom 
no  treaty  and  no  signature  could  bind,  and  who  were  the 
determined  enemies  of  human  intercourse  itself,  he  decreed 
to  make  the  country  possessed  by  these  incorrigible  and  pre- 
destinated criminals  a  memorable  example  to  mankind. 
He  resolved,  in  the  gloomy  recesses  of  a  mind  capacious  of 
such  things,  to  leave  the  whole  Carnatic  an  everlasting 
monument  of  vengeance,  and  to  put  perpetual  desolation 


380  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

as  a  barrier  between  him  and  those  against  whom  the  faith 
which  holds  the  moral  elements  of  the  world  together  was 
no  protection. 

He  became  at  length  so  confident  of  his  force,  so  col- 
lected in  his  might,  that  he  made  no  secret  whatsoever  of 
his  dreadful  resolution.  Having  terminated  his  disputes 
with  every  enemy  and  every  rival,  who  buried  their  mutual 
animosities  in  their  common  detestation  against  the  creditors 
of  the  Nabob  of  Arcot,  he  drew  from  every  quarter  what- 
ever a  savage  ferocity  could  add  to  his  new  rudiments  in 
the  arts  of  destruction ;  and  compounding  all  the  materials 
of  fury,  havoc,  and  desolation  into  one  black  cloud,  he 
hung  for  awhile  on  the  declivities  of  the  mountains. 

Whilst  the  authors  of  all  these  evils  were  idly  and 
stupidly  gazing  on  this  menacing  meteor  which  blackened 
all  their  horizon,  it  suddenly  burst,  and  poured  down  the 
whole  of  its  contents  upon  the  plains  of  the  Carnatic. 

Then  ensued  a  scene  of  woe,  the  like  of  which  no  eye 
had  seen,  no  heart  conceived,  and  which  no  tongue  can 
adequately  tell.  All  the  horrors  of  war  before  known  or 
heard  of,  were  mercy  to  that  new  havoc.  A  storm  of  uni- 
versal fire  blasted  every  field,  consumed  every  house,  de- 
stroyed every  temple.  The  miserable  inhabitants,  flying 
from  their  flaming  villages,  in  part  were  slaughtered ; 
others,  without  regard  to  sex,  to  age,  to  the  respect  of  rank, 
or  sacredness  of  function,  —  fathers  torn  from  children,  hus- 
bands from  wives,  enveloped  in  a  whirlwind  of  cavalry, 
and,  amidst  the  goading  spears  of  drivers,  and  the  tramp- 
ling of  pursuing  horses,  —  were  swej^t  into  captivity,  in  an 
unknown  and  hostile  land. 

Those  who  were  able  to  evade  this  tempest,  fled  to  the 
walled  cities;  but  escai:)ing  from  fire,  sword,  and  exile,  they 
fell  into  the  jaws  of  famine. 

The  alms  of  the  settlement  of  Madras,  in  this  dreadful 
exigency,  were  certainly  liberal,  and  all  was  done  by  charity 
that  private  charity  could  do;  but  it  was  a  people  in  beg- 


SIXTH  READER.  381 

gary;  it  was  a  nation  which  stretched  out  its  hands  for 
food. 

For  months  together  these  creatures  of  sufferance,  whose 
very  excess  and  luxury  in  their  most  plenteous  days  had 
fallen  short  of  the  allowance  of  our  austerest  fasts,  silent, 
patient,  resigned,  without  sedition  or  disturbance,  almost 
without  complaint,  perished  by  a  hundred  a  day  in  the 
streets  of  Madras;  every  day  seventy  at  least  laid  their 
bodies  in  the  streets,  or  on  the  glacis  of  Tanjore,  and  ex- 
pired of  famine  in  the  granary  of  India. 

I  was  going  to  wake  your  justice  toward  this  unhapi:)y 
part  of  our  fellow-citizens,  by  bringing  before  you  some  of 
the  circumstances  of  this  plague  of  hunger.  Of  all  the 
calamities  which  beset  and  waylay  the  life  of  man,  this 
comes  the  nearest  to  our  heart,  and  is  that  wherein  the 
proudest  of  us  all  feels  himself  to  be  nothing  more  than 
he  is. 

But  I  find  myself  unable  to  manage  it  with  decorum. 
These  details  are  of  a  species  of  horror  so  nauseous  an3 
disgusting;  they  are  so  degrading  to  the  sufferers  and  to 
the  hearers;'  they  are  so  humiliating  to  human  nature  itself, 
that,  on  better  thoughts,  I  find  it  more  advisable  to  throw 
a  pall  over  this  hideous  object,  and  to  leave  it  to  your 
general  concej)tions. 

For  eighteen  months,  without  intermission,  this  destruc- 
tion raged  from  the  gates  of  Madras  to  the  gates  of  Tan- 
jore; and  so  comjDletely  did  these  masters  in  their  art, 
Hyder  Ali,  and  his  more  ferocious  son,  absolve  themselves 
of  their  impious  vow,  that  when  the  British  armies 
traversed,  as  they  did,  the  Carnatic,  for  hundreds  of  miles 
in  all  directions,  through  the  whole  line  of  their  march 
they  did  not  see  one  man  —  not  one  woman  —  not  one  child 
—  not  one  four-footed  beast  of  any  description  whatever! 
One  dead,  uniform  silence  reigned  over  the  whole  region. 

With  the  inconsiderable  exceptions  of  the  narrow  vicin- 
age of  some  few  forts,  I  wish  to  be  understood  as  speaking 


382  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

literally; — I  mean  to  produce  to  you  more  than  three  wit- 
nesses, who  will  support  this  assertion  in  its  full  extent. 
That  hurricane  of  war  passed  through  every  part  of  the 
central  provinces  of  the  Carnatic.  Six  or  seven  districts  to 
the  north  and  to  the  south  (and  these  not  wholly  un- 
touched) escaped  the  general  ravage. 

Notes. — This  selection  is  an  extract  from  Burke's  cele- 
brated speech  in  Parliament,  in  1785,  on  the  Nabob  of  A  root's 
debts;  it  bore  upon  the  maladministration  of  Hastings. 

Arcot,  a  district  in  India,  had  been  ceded  to  the  British  on 
condition  that  they  should  pay  the  former  ruler's  debts. 
These  were  found  to  be  enormous,  and  the  creditors  proved 
to  be  individuals  in  the  East  India  Company's  employ.  The 
creditors,  for  their  private  gain,  induced  the  Nabob  to  attempt 
the  subjugation  of  other  native  princes,  among  whom  was 
Hyder  Ali.  'J'he  latter  at  first  made  successful  resistance, 
and  compelled  the  Nabob  and  his  allies  to  sign  a  treaty.  The 
treaty  was  not  kept,  and  the  destruction  above  recounted  took 
place. 

The  Carnatic  is  a  province  in  British  India,  on  the  eastern 
side  of  the  peninsula;  it  contains  about  50,000  square  miles. 
Madras  is  a  city,  and  Tanjore  a  town,  in  this  px'ovince. 


CIX.    THE   RAVEN. 


Edgar  Allan  Poe,  1811-1849,  was  born  in  Baltimore,  and  died  in  the 
same  city.  He  was  left  a  destitute  orphan  at  an  early  age,  and  was 
adopted  by  Mr.  John  Allan,  a  wealtliy  citizen  of  Riclimond.  He  entered 
the  University  of  Virginia,  at  Cliarlottesville,  where  he  excelled  in  his 
studies,  and  was  always  at  the  head  of  his  class;  but  he  was  compelled 
to  leave  on  account  of  irregularities.  He  was^  afterwards  appointed  a 
cadet  at  "West  Point,  but  failed  to  graduate  there  for  the  same  reason. 
Poe  now  quarreled  with  his  benefactor  and  left  his  house  never  to  return. 
During  the  rest  of  his  melancholy  career,  he  obtained  a  precarious  live- 
lihood by  different  literary  enterprises.  His  ability  as  a  writer  gained 
him  positions  with  various  periodicals  in  Richmond,  New  York,  and 
Philadelphia,  and  during  tliis  time  he  wrote  some  of  his  finest  prose. 
The  appearance  of  "  The  Raven  "  in  184-5,  however,  at  once  made  Poe  a 


SIXTH  EEADER.  383 

literai-j'  lion.  He  was  quite  successful  for  a  time,  but  theu  fell  back  into 
his  dissipated  habits  which  finally  caused  his  death.  lu  his  personal  ap- 
pearance, Poe  was  neat  and  gentlemanly;  his  face  was  expressive  of  in- 
tellect and  sensibility ;  and  his  mental  powers  in  some  directions  were 
of  a  high  order.  His  writings  show  care,  and  a  great  degree  of  skill  in 
their  construction ;  but  their  efl'ect  is  generally  morbid. 


Once  upon  a  raidniglit  dreary, 
While  I  pondered,  weak  and  weary. 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious 
Volume  of  forgotten  lore  — 
While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping, 
Suddenly  there  came  a  tajiping. 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping, 
Rapping  at  my  chamber  door. 
"'Tis  some  visitor,"  I  muttered, 

"Tapping  at  my  chamber  door  — 
Only  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember. 
It  was  in  the  bleak  December, 
And  each  separate  dying  ember 

Wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow; — 
Vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow  — 
Sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore  — 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden 

Whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  — 
Nameless  here  for  evermore. 


And  the  silken,  sad,  uncertain 
Rustling  of  each  purple  curtain 
Thrilled  me,  —  filled  me  with  fantastic 
Terrors,  never  felt  before ; 
So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating 


384  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Of  my  heart,  I  stood  rejieating, 
"  'Tis  some  visitor  entreating 

Entrance  at  my  chamber  door  — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating 

Entrance  at  my  chamber  door; 

This  it  is,  and  nothing  more." 

Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger; 
Hesitating  then  no  longer, 
"Sir,"  said  I,  "or  Madam,  truly 
Your  forgiveness  I  implore ; 
But  the  flict  is  I  was  naj)ping,' 
And  so  gently  you  came  rapping, 
And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping, 
•Tapping  at  my  chamber  door,- 
That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you." — 
Here  I  opened  wide  the  door ;  — 

Darkness  there,  and  nothing  more. 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering, 
Long  I  stood  there,  wondering,  fearing, 
Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortals 
Ever  dared  to  dream  before ; 
But  the  silence  was  unbroken. 
And  the  stillness  gave  no  token, 
And  the  only  word  there  spoken 

Was  the  whispered  word,  "Lenore!" 
Tliis  I  whispered,  and  an  echo 

Murmured  back  the  word,  "  Lenore  !  " — 
Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Back  into  the  chamber  turning. 
All  my  soul  within  me  burning, 
Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping, 
Something  louder  than  before. 


6.-33. 


SIXTH  READER.  386 

"  Surely,"  said  I,   "  surely,  that  is 

Something  at  my  window  lattice ; 

Let  me  see  then,  what  thereat  is. 

And  this  mystery  explore  — 

Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment, 

And  this  mystery  explore ;  — 

'Tis  the  Avind,  and  nothing  more." 

Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter, 
When,  with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter, 
Li  there  stepped  a  stately  Raven 
Of  the  saintly  days  of  yore; 
Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he; 
Not  a  minute  stopped  or  stayed  he, 
But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,    . 
Perched  above  my  chamber  door^ 
Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas 

Just  above  my  chamber  door — 

Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling 
My  sad  fancy  into  smiling. 
By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum 
Of  the  countenance  it  wore, 
"  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven, 
Thou,"  I  said,  "  art  sure  no  craven. 
Ghastly,  grim,  and  ancient  Raven, 
Wandering  from  the  nightly  shore, 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is 

On  the  night's  Plutonian  shore!" 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore." 

Much  I  marveled  this  ungainly- 
Fowl  to  hear  discourse  so  plainly, 
Though  its  answer  little  meaning  — 


886  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Little  relevancy  bore; 
For  we  can  not  help  agreeing 
That  no  living  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  blest  with  seeing 
Bird  above  his  chamber  door — 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured 
Bust  above  his  chamber  door, 

With  such  name  as  "Nevermore." 

But  the  Raven,  sitting  lonely 
On  that  placid  bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in 
That  one  word  he  did  outpour. 
Nothing  farther  then  he  uttered. 
Not  a  feather  then  he  fluttered. 
Till  I  scarcely  more  than  muttered, 
"Other  friends  have  flown  before — 
CW  the  morrow  he  Avill  leave  me. 

As  my  Hopes  have  flown  before." 

Then  the  bird  said,  "Nevermore." 

Startled  at  the  stillness  broken 
By  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 
"Doubtless,"  said  I,  "what  it  utters 
Is  its  only  stock  and  store. 
Caught  from  some  unhappy  master 
Whom  unmerciful  Disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster 
Till  his  songs  one  burden  bore — 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  Hope  that 
Melancholy  burden  bore 

Of  'Never — nevermore.'" 

But  the  Raven  still  beguiling 
All  my  sad  soul  into  smiling. 
Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in 


SIXTH  READEB.  387 

Front  of  bird,  and  bust,  and  door; 
Then,  upon  the  velvet  sinking, 
I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking 

What  this  ominous  bird  of  yore  — 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly. 
Gaunt,  and  ominous  bird  of  yore 

Meant  in  croaking  "Nevermore." 

This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing. 
But  no  syllable  expressing 
To  the  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now 
Burned  into  my  bosom's  core; 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining, 
With  my  head  at  ease  reclining 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining 
That  the  lamp-light  gloated  o'er. 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining. 

With  the  lamp-light  gloating  o'er 

She  shall  press,  ah,  nevermore! 

Then,  methought,  the  air  grew  denser, 
Perfumed  from  an  unseen  censer 
Swung  by  Seraphim,  whose  footfalls 
Tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor. 
"Wretch,"  I  cried,  "thy  God  hath  lent  thee  — 
By  these  angels  he  hath  sent  thee 
Respite  —  respite  and  nepenthe 
From  thy  memories  of  Lenore ! 
Quaff,  oh  quaff"  this  kind  nepenthe, 
And  forget  this  lost  Lenore!" 

Quoth  the  Raven^  "Nevermore." 

"Prophet!"  said  I,  "thing  of  evil!  — 
Prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil !  — 
Whether  Tempter  sent,  or  Avhether 


388  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Tempest  tossed  thee  here  ashore, 
Desolate,  yet  all  uudauuted, 
On  this  desert  land  enchanted  — 
On  this  home  by  Horror  haunted  — 
Tell  me  truly,  I  implore — 
Is  there — is  there  balm  in  Gilead? 
Tell  me  —  tell  me,  I  implore ! " 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore." 

"Prophet!"  said  I,  "thing  of  evil, — 
Prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil !  — 
By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us, 
By  that  G(jd  we  both  adore. 
Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden, 
If,  Avithin  the  distant  Aidenn, 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden 
Whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  — 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden. 
Whom  the  angels  name  Lenore." 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore." 

"  Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting. 
Bird  or  fiend,"  I  shrieked,  upstarting; 
"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest 

And  the  night's  Plutonian  shore! 

Leave  no  black  jilume  as  a  token 

Of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath  spoken ! 

Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken !  — 

Quit  the  bust  above  my  door! 

Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and 

Take  thy  form  from  off  my  door ! " 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore." 

And  the  Raven,  never  flitting, 
Still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 


SIXTH  READER.  389 

On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas 

Just  above  my  chamber  door; 
And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming 
Of  a  demon's  that  is  dreaming, 
And  the  lamplight  o'er  him  streaming 
Throws  his  shadow  on  the  floor; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow, 
That  lies  floating  on  the  floor, 

Shall  be  lifted  —  nevermore! 

Notes. — Pallas,  or  Minerva,  in  ancient  mythology,  was  the 
goddess  of  wisdom. 

Plutonian ;  see  note  on  Pluto,  page  242. 

Gilead  is  the  name  of  a  mountain  group  of  Palestine,  cel- 
ebrated for  its  balsam  or  balm  made  from  herbs.  It  is  here 
used  figuratively. 

Aidenn  is  an  Anglicized  and  disguised  siDelling  of  the 
Arabic  form  of  the  word  Eden:  it  is  here  used  as  a  synonym 
for  heaven. 


ex.    A  VIEW   OF    THE    COLOSSEUM. 

Orville  Dewey,  1794 ,  a  well  known  Unitarian  clergyman  and 

autlior,  was  born  iu  Slieffleld,  Mas.sacliusetts,  graduated  with  distinction 
at  Williams  College  in  1814,  and  afterward  studied  theology  at  Andover. 
For  a  while  he  was  assistant  to  Dr.  W.  E.  Channing  in  Boston.  He  has 
since  been  pastor  in  New  Bedford,  New  York.  City,  and  Boston.  He  has 
made  two  or  three  voyages  to  Europe,  and  has, published  accounts  of  his 
travels. 

"  Discourses  on  Human  Life,"  "  Discourses  on  the  Nature  of  Religion," 
"Discourses  on  Commerce  and  Business,"  are  among  his  published 
works.  His  writings  are  both  philosophical  and  practical ;  and,  as  a 
preacher,  he  was  esteemed  original,  earnest,  and  impressive. 

On  the  eighth  of  November,  from  the  high  land,  about 
fourteen  miles  distant,  I  first  saw  Rome;  and  although 
there  is  something  very  unfavorable  to  impression  in_  the 
expectation   that   you  are  to  be  greatly  impressed,  or  that 


390  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

you  ought  to  be,  or  that  such  is  the  fashion;  yet  Rome  is 
too  mighty  a  name  to  be  withstood  by  such  or  any  other 
influences.  Let  you  come  upon  that  hill  in  what  mood  you 
may,  the  scene  will  lay  hold  upon  you  as  with  the  hand  of 
a  giant.  I  scarcely  know  how  to  describe  the  impression, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  something  strong  and  stately, 
like  the  slow  and  majestic  march  of  a  mighty  whirlwind, 
swept  around  those  eternal  towers;  the  storms  of  time,  that 
had  prostrated  the  proudest  monuments  of  the  Avorld, 
seemed  to  have  left  their  vibrations  in  the  still  and  solemn 
air;  ages  of  history  passed  before  me;  the  mighty  pro- 
cession of  nations,  kings,  consuls,  emperors,  empires,  and 
generations  had  passed  over  that  sublime  theater.  The 
fire,  the  storm,  the  earthquake,  had  gone  by ;  but  there 
was  yet  left  the  still,  small  voice  like  that  at  which  the 
prophet  "  wrapped  his  face  in  his  mantle." 

I  went  to  see  the  Colosseum  by  moonlight.  It  is  the 
monarch,  the  majesty  of  all  ruins;  there  is  nothing  like  it. 
All  the  associations  of  the  place,  too,  give  it  the  most  im- 
pressive character.  When  you  enter  within  this  stupendous 
circle  of  ruinous  walls  and  arches,  and  grand  terraces  of 
masonry,  rising  one  above  another,  you  stand  upon  the 
arena  of  the  old  gladiatorial  combats  and  Christian  martyr- 
dom; and  as  you  lift  your  eyes  to  the  vast  amphitheater, 
you  meet,  in  imagination,  the  eyes  of  a  hundred  thousand 
Romans,  assembled  to  witness  these  bloody  spectacles. 
What  a  multitude  and  mighty  array  of  human  beings; 
and  how  little  do  we  know  in  modern  times  of  great  as- 
semblies!  One,  two,  and  thi-ee,  and,  at  its  last  enlargement 
by  Constantine,  more  than  three  hundred  thousand  persons 
could  be  seated  in  the  Circus  Maximus ! 

But  to  return  to  the  Colosseum;  we  went  up  under  the 
conduct  of  a  guide  upon  the  walls  and  terraces,  or  em- 
bankments, which  supported  the  ranges  of  seats.  The  seats 
have  long  since  disappeared ;  and  grass  overgrows  the  spots 
where  the  pride,   and   power,   and   wealth,   and  beauty  of 


SIXTH  BEADER.  391 

Rome  sat  down  to  its  barbarous  entertainments.  What 
thronging  life  was  here  then!  What  voices,  what  greet- 
ings, what  hurrying  footsteps  upon  the  staircases  of  the 
eighty  arches  of  entrance!  And  now,  as  we  picked  our 
way  carefully  through  the  decayed  passages,  or  cautiously 
ascended  some  moldering  flight  of  steps,  or  stood  by  the 
lonely  walls — ourselves  silent,  and,  for  a  wonder,  the  guide 
silent,  too  —  there  was  no  sound  here  but  of  the  bat,  and 
none  came  from  without  but  the  roll  of  a  distant  carriage, 
or  the  convent  bell  from  the  summit  of  the  neighboring 
Esquiline. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  to  describe  the  effect  of  moonlight 
upon  this  ruin.  Through  a  hundred  lonely  arches  and 
blackened  passage-ways  it  streamed  in,  pure,  bright,  soft, 
lambent,  and  yet  distinct  and  clear,  as  if  it  came  there  at 
once  to  reveal,  and  cheer,  and  pity  the  mighty  desolation. 
But  if  the  Colosseum  is  a  mournful  and  desolate  spectacle 
as  seen  from  within — without,  and  especially  on  the  side 
which  is  in  best  preservation,  it  is  glorious.  We  passed 
around  it;  and,  as  we  looked  upward,  the  moon  shining 
through  its  arches,  from  the  opposite  side,  it  appeared  as  if 
it  were  the  coronet  of  the  heavens,  so  vast  was  it  —  or  like 
a  glorious  crown  upon  the  brow  of  night. 

I  feel  that  I  do  not  and  can  not  describe  this  mighty 
ruin.  I  can  only  say  that  I  came  away  paralyzed,  and  as 
passive  as  a  child.  A  soldier  stretched  out  his  hand  for 
"wn  dono"  as  we  passed  the  guard;  and  when  my  com-, 
panion  said  I  did  wrong  to  give,  I  told  him  that  I  should 
have  given  my  cloak,  if  the  man  had  asked  it.  Would 
you  break  any  spell  that  worldly  feeling  or  selfish  sorrow 
may  have  spread  over  your  mind,  go  and  see  the  Colosseum 
by  moonlight. 

Notes.  —  The  Colosseum,  (pro.  Col-os-se'um)  was  com- 
menced by  the  Roman  emperor  A'espasian,  and  was  completed 
by  Titus,  his  son,  79  A.  D.     Its  construction  occupied  but  three 


392  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

years,  notwithstanding  its  size;  a  great  part  of  its  walls  are 
standing  to-day. 

The  Circus  Maximus  was  an  amphitheater  built  by  Tar- 
quin  the  Elder  aliout  COO  B.  C. 

Constantine.     See  note  on  page  175. 

The  Esquiline  is  one  of  the  seven  hills  uj^on  which  Rome 
is  built. 

Un  dono,  an  Italian  phrase  meaning  a  gift  or  alms. 


CXI.    THE    BRIDGE. 

I  STOOD  on  the  bridge  at  midnight, 
As  the  clocks  were  striking  the  hour, 

And  the  moon  rose  o'er  the  city, 
Behind  the  dark  church  tower. 

I  saw  her  bright  reflection 

In  the  waters  under  me. 
Like  a  golden  goblet  falling 

And  sinking  into  the  sea. 

And  far  in  the  hazy  distance 

Of  that  lovely  night  in  June, 
The  hlaze  of  the  flaming  furnace 

Gleamed  redder  than  the  moon. 

Among  the  long,  black  rafters 

The  W'avering  shadows  lay, 
And  the  cuirent  that  came  from  the  ocean. 

Seemed  to  lift  and  bear  them  away ; 

As,  sweeping  and  eddying  through  them. 

Rose  the  belated  tide. 
And,  streaming  into  the  moonlight, 

The  sea-weed  floated  wide. 


SIXTH  BEADEB.  393 

And  like  those  waters  rushing 

Among  the  wooden  piers, 
A  flood  of  thoughts  came  o'er  me 

That  filled  my  eyes  with  tears. 

How  often,  oh,  how  often, 

In  the  days  that  had  gone  by, 
I  had  stood  on  that  bridge  at  midnight 

And  gazed  on  that  wave  and  sky! 

How  often,  oh,  how  often, 

I  had  wished  that  the  ebbing  tide 
Would  bear  me  away  on  its  bosom 

O'er  the  ocean  wild  and  wide. 

For  my  heart  was  hot  and  restless, 

And  my  life  was  full  of  care. 
And  the  burden  laid  upon  me 

Seemed  greater  than  I  could  bear. 

But  now  it  has  fallen  from  me. 

It  is  buried  in  the  sea; 
And  only  the  sorrow  of  others 

Throws  its  shadow  over  me. 

Yet,  whenever  I  cross  the  river 

On  its  bridge  Avith  wooden  piers. 
Like  the  odor  of  brine  from  the  ocean 

Comes  the  thought  of  other  years. 

And  I  think  how  many  thousands 

Of  care-encumbered  men. 
Each  bearing  his  burden  of  sorrow. 

Have  crossed  the  bridge  since  then. 


394  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

I  see  the  long  procession 

Still  passing  to  and  fro, 
The  young  heart  hot  and  restless, 

And  the  old,  subdued  and  slow ! 

And  forever  and  forever, 

As  long  as  the  river  flows, 
As  long  as  the  heart  has  passions. 

As  long  as  life  has  woes; 

The  moon  and  its  broken  reflection 

And  its  shadows  shall  appear 
As  the  symbol  of  love  in  heaven. 

And  its  wavering  image  here. 

— Longfdlow. 


CXII.    OBJECTS  AND  LIMITS  OP  SCIENCE. 

Robert  Charles  "Winthrop,  1809 ,  Is  a  descendant  of  John  Win- 

throp,  the  first  Governor  of  the  Colony  of  Massachusetts  Bay.  He  was 
born  in  Boston,  studied  at  the  public  Latin  School,  graduated  at  Harvard 
in  1828,  and  studied  hiw  with  Daniel  Wobst«r.  Possessing  an  ample 
fortune,  he  made  little  eflTort  to  practice  his  professioy.  In  1834  he  was 
elected  to  the  Legislature  of  his  native  state,  and  was  re-elected  five 
times ;  three  years  he  was  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Representatives.  In 
1840  he  was  chosen  to  Congress,  and  sat  as  Representative  for  ten  years. 
In  1847  he  was  chosen  Speaker  of  the  House.  He  also  served  a  short 
time  in  the  Senate.  His  published  writings  are  chiefly  in  the  form  of 
addresses  and  speeches;  they  are  easy,  finished,  and  scholarly.  As  a 
speaker,  Mr.  Winthrop  is  ready,  full-voiced,  and  self-possessed. 

There  are  fields  enough  for  the  wildest  and  most  ex- 
travagant theorizings,  within  man's  own  appropriate  domain, 
without  overleaping  the  barriers  which  separate  things 
human  and  divine.  Indeed,  I  have  often  thought  that 
modern  science  had  afibrded  a  most  opportune  and  provi- 
dential safety-valve  for  the  intellectual  curiosity  and  am- 
bition of   man,  at  a  moment  when  the  progress  of  educa- 


SIXTH  READER.  395 

tion,  invention,  and  liberty  had  ronsed  and  stimulated  him 
to  a  pitch  of  such  unprecedented  eagerness  and  ardor. 
Astronomy,  Chemistry,  and,  more  than  all.  Geology,  with 
their  incidental  branches  of  study,  have  opened  an  inex- 
haustible field  for  investigation  and  speculation.  Here,  by 
the  aid  of  modern  instruments  and  modern  modes  of 
analysis,  the  most  ardent  and  earnest  spirits  may  find 
ample  room  and  verge  enough  for  their  insatiate  activity 
and  audacious  enterprise,  and  may  pursue  their  course  not 
only  without  the  slightest  danger  of  doing  mischief  to 
others,  but  with  the  certainty  of  promoting  the  great  end 
of  scientific  truth. 

Let  them  lift  their  vast  reflectors  or  refractors  to  the 
skies,  and  detect  new  planets  in  their  hiding-places.  Let 
them  waylay  the  fugitive  comets  in  their  flight,  and  compel 
them  to  disclose  the  precise  period  of  their  orbits,  and  to 
give  bonds  for  their  punctual  return.  Let  them  drag  out 
reluctant  satellites  from  "  their  habitual  concealments." 
Let  them  resolve  the  unresolvable  nebulae  of  Orion  or 
Andromeda.  They  need  not  fear.  The  sky  will  not  fall, 
nor  a  single  star  be  shaken  from  its  sj^here. 

Let  them  perfect  and  elaborate  their  marvelous  processes 
of  making  the  light  and  the  lightning  their  ministers,  for 
putting  "a  pencil  of  rays"  into  the  hand  of  art,  and  pro- 
viding tongues  of  fire  for  the  communication  of  intelli- 
gence. Let  them  foretell  the  path  of  the  whirlwind,  and 
calculate  the  orbit  of  the  storm.  Let  them  hang  out  their 
gigantic  pendulums,  and  make  the  earth  do  the  work  of 
describing  and  measuring  her  own  motions.  Let  them 
annihilate  human  pain,  and  literally  "charm  ache  with  air, 
and  agony  with  ether."  The  blessing  of  God  will  attend 
all  their  toils,  and  the  gratitude  of  man  will  await  all  their 
triumphs. 

Let  them  dig  down  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  Let 
them  rive  asunder  the  massive  rocks,  and  unfold  the 
history  of  creation  as  it  lies  written  on  the  pages  of  their 


396  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

piled  up  strata.  Let  them  gather  up  the  fossil  fragments 
of  a  lost  Fauna,  reproducing  the  ancient  forms  which  in- 
habited the  land  or  the  seas,  bringing  them  together,  bone 
to  his  bone,  till  Leviathan  and  Behemoth  stand  before  us 
in  bodily  presence  and  in'  their  full  proportions,  and  we 
almost  tremble  lest  these  dry  bones  should  live  again ! 
Let  them  put  nature  to  the  rack,  and  torture  her,  in  all 
her  forms,  to  the  betrayal  of  her  inmost  secrets  and  con- 
fidences. They  need  not  forbear.  The  foundations  of  the 
round  world  have  been  laid  so  strong  that  they  can  not  be 
moved. 

But  let  them  not  think  by  searching  to  find  out  God. 
Let  them  not  dream  of  understanding  the  Almighty  to 
perfection.  Let  them  not  dare  to  apply  their  tests  and 
solvents,  their  modes  of  analysis  or  their  terms  of  defini- 
tion, to  the  secrets  of  the  spiritual  kingdom.  Let  them 
spare  the  foundations  of  faith.  Let  them  be  satisfied  with 
what  is  revealed  of  the  mysteries  of  the  Divine  Nature. 
Let  them  not  break  through  the  bounds  to  gaze  after  the 
Invisible. 

NoTKs. — Orion  and  Andromeda  are  the  names  of  two 
constellations. 

The  Leviathan  is  described  in  Job,  chap,  xli,  and  the 
Behemoth  in  Job,  chap.  xl.  It  is  not  known  exactly  what 
beasts  are  meant  by  these  descriptions. 


CXIII.    THE    DOWNFALL    OF    POLAND. 

O  SACRED  Truth!  thy  triumph  ceased  a  while. 
And  Hope,  thy  sister,  ceased  with  thee  to  smile. 
When  leagued  Oppression  poured  to  northern  wars 
Her  whiskered  pandours  and  her  fierce  hussars, 
Waved  her  dread  standard  to  the  breeze  of  morn, 
Pealed  her  loud  drum,  and  twanged  her  trumpet  horn; 


SIXTH  READER.  397 

Tumultuous  horror  brooded  o'er  her  van, 
Presaging  wrath  to  Poland  —  and  to  man! 

Warsaw's  last  champion,  from  her  height  surveyed, 

Wide  o'er  the  fields  a  waste  *of  ruin  laid ; 

"O  Heaven!"  he  cried,  "my  bleeding  counti-y  save! 

Is  there  no  hand  on  high  to  shield  the  brave? 

Yet,  though  destruction  sweep  those  lovely  plains, 

Rise,  fellow  men !  our  country  yet  remains ! 

By  that  dread  name,  we  wave  the  sword  on  high, 

And  swear  for  her  to  live — W'ith  her  to  die!" 

He  said,  and  on  the  rampart-heights  arrayed 
His  trusty  warriors,  few,  but  undismayed; 
Firm-paced  and  slow,  a  horrid  front  they  form, 
Still  as  the  breeze,  but  dreadful  as  the  storm ; 
Low  murmuring  sounds  along  their  banners  fly, 
Revenge  or  death  —  the  watchword  and  rej^ly ; 
Then  pealed  the  notes,  omnipotent  to  charm, 
And  the  loud  tocsin  tolled  their  last  alarm. 

In  vain,  alas!  in  vain,  ye  gallant  few! 
From  rank  to  rank,  your  volleyed  thunder  flew! 
Oh,  bloodiest  picture  in  the  book  of  time, 
Sarmatia  fell,  unwef)t,  without  a  crime ; 
Found  not  a  generous  friend,  a  pitying  foe. 
Strength  in  her  arms,  nor  mercy  in  her  woe! 
Dropped  from  her  nerveless  grasp  the  shattered  spear. 
Closed  her  bright  eye,  and  curbed  her  high  career; 
Hope,  for  a  season,  bade  the  world  farewell, 
And  Freedom  shrieked  as  Kosciusko  fell ! 

— Thomas  Campbell. 

Notes.— Kosciusko   (b.   1746,  d.   1817),  a  celebrated  Polish 
patriot,  who  had  served  in  the  American  Revolution,  was  be- 


398  ECLECTIC   SERIES. 

sieged  at  Warsaw,  in  1794,  by  a  large  force  of  Russians,  Prus- 
sians, and  Austrians.  After  the  siege  was  raised,  he  marched 
against  a  force  of  Russians  much  larger  than  his  own,  and  was 
defeated.  He  was  himself  severely  wounded  and  captured. 
Sarmatia  is  the  ancien^  name  for  a  region  of  Europe 
which  embraced  Poland,  but  was  of  greater  extent. 


CXIV.    LABOR. 

Horace  Greeley,  1811-1872.  This  celebrated  man,  perhaps  the  most 
famous  editor  of  America,  the  son  of  poor  parents,  was  born  in  Amherst, 
New  Hampshire.  His  boyhood  was  passed  in  farm  labor,  in  attending 
the  common  school,  and  in  reading  every  book  on  which  he  could  lay 
his  liands.  His  reading  was  mostly  done  by  the  light  of  pine  knots.  At 
fifteen  he  entered  a  printing-office  in  Vermont,  became  the  best  work- 
man in  the  office,  and  continued  to  improve  every  opportunity  for  study. 
At  the  age  of  twenty  he  appeared  in  New  York  City,  poorly  clothed,  and 
almost  destitute  ol  money.  He  worked  at  his  trade  for  a  year  or  two, 
and  then  set  up  printing  for  himself.  For  several  years  he  was  not  suc- 
cessful, but  struggled  on,  performing  an  immense  amount  of  work  as  an 
editor.  In  1841  he  established  the  "  New  York  Tribune,"  which  soon  be- 
came one  of  the  most  successful  and  influential  papers  in  the  country. 
In  1848  he  was  elected  to  Congress,  but  remained  but  a  short  time.  In 
1872  he  was  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency,  was  defeated,  and  died  a  few 
days  afterward.  Mr.  Greeley  is  a  rare  example  of  what  may  be  accom- 
plislied  by  honesty  and  unflinching  industry.  Besides  tlie  vast  amount 
which  he  wrote  for  the  newspapers,  he  published  several  books ;  the  best 
known  of  them  is  "The  American  Conflict." 


Every  child  should  be  trained  to  ^dexterity  in  some  use- 
ful branch  of  productive  industry,  not  in  order  that  he 
shall  certainly  follow  that  pursuit,  but  that  he  may  at  all 
events  be  able  to  do  so  in  case  he  shall  fail  in  the  more 
intellectual  or  artificial  calling  which  he  may  prefer  to  it. 
Let  him  seek  to  be  a  doctor,  lawyer,  preacher,  poet,  if  he 
Avill ;  but  let  him  not  stake  his  all  on  success  in  that  pur- 
suit, but  have  a  second  line  to  fall  back  upon  if  driven 
from  his  first.  Let  him  be  so  reared  and  trained  that  he 
may  enter,  if  he  will,  uj^on  some  intellectual  calling  in  the 
sustaining  consciousness  that  he  need  not  debase  himself, 
nor    do    violence    to    his   convictions,    in    order    to    achieve 


SIXTH  READER.  399 

success  therein,  since  he  can  live  and  thrive  in  another  (if 
you  choose,  humbler)  vocation,  if  driven  from  that  of  liis 
choice.  This  buttress  to  integrity,  this  assurance  of  self- 
respect,  is  to  be  found  in  a  universal  training  to  efficiency 
in  Productive  Labor. 

The  world  is  full  of  misdirection  and  waste;  but  all  the 
calamities  and  losses  endured  by  mankind  through  frost, 
drouth,  blight,  hail,  fires,  earthquakes,  inundations,  are  as 
nothing  to  those  habitually  suffered  by  them  through 
human  idleness  and  inefficiency,  mainly  caused  (or  excused) 
by  lack  of  industrial  training.  It  is  quite  within  the  truth 
to  estimate  that  one  tenth  of  our  people,  in  the  average, 
are  habitually  idle  because  (as  they  say)  they  cau  find  no 
employment.  They  look  for  work  where  it  can  not  be  had. 
They  seem  to  be,  or  they  are,  unable  to  do  such  as 
abundantly  confronts  and  solicits  them.  Suppose  theae  to 
average  but  one  million  able-bodied  persons,  and  that  their 
work  is  Avorth  but  one  dollar  each  per  day;  our  loss  by  in- 
voluntary idleness  can  not  be  less  than  $300,000,000  per 
annum.  I  judge  that  it  is  actually  $500,000,000.  Many 
who  stand  Avaiting  to  be  hired  could  earn  from  tAvo  to  five 
dollars  jaer  day  had  they  been  properly  trained  to  Avork. 
"There  is  plenty  of  room  higher  up,"  said  Daniel  Webster, 
in  response  to  an  inquiry  as  to  the  prospects  of  a  young 
man  just  entering  upon  the  practice  of  laAv;  and  there  is 
ncA^er  a  dearth  of  employment  for  men  or  Avomen  of  signal 
capacity  or  skill.  In  this  city,  ten  thousand  Avomen  are 
ahvays  doing  ueedle-Avork  for  less  than  fifty  cents  per  day, 
finding  themselves;  yet  tAvice  their  number  of  capable, 
skillful  seamstresses  could  find  steady  employment  and  good 
living  in  Avealthy  families  at  not  less  than  one  dollar  per 
day  OA'^er  and  above  board  and  lodging.  He  Avho  is  a  good 
blacksmith,  a  fair  mill-wright,  a  tolerable  Avagon-maker,  and 
can  chop  timber,  make  fence,  and  manage  a  small  farm  if 
required,  is  always  sure  of  Avork  and  fair  recompense; 
while  he  or  she  Avho  can  keej)  books  or  teach  music  fairly. 


400  ECLECTIO  SERIES. 

but  knows  how  to  do  nothing  else,  is  in  constant  danger  of 
falling  into  involuntary  idleness  and  consequent  beggary. 
It  is  a  broad,  general  truth,  that  no  boy  was  ever  yet 
inured  to  daily,  systematic,  productive  labor  in  field  or 
shop  throughout  the  latter  half  of  his  minority,  who  did 
not  prove  a  useful  man,  and  was  not  able  to  find  work 
whenever  he  wished  it. 

Yet  to  the  ample  and  constant  employment  of  a  whole 
community  one  prerequisite  is  indispensable,  —  that  a  va- 
riety of  pursuits  shall  have  been  created  or  naturalized 
therein.  A  people  who  have  but  a  single  source  of  profit 
are  iniiformly  poor,  not  because  that  vocation  is  necessarily 
ill-chosen,  but  because  no  single  calling  can  emploj'  and 
reward  the  varied  capacities  of  male  and  female,  old  and 
young,  robust  and  feeble.  Thus  a  lumbering  or  fishing 
region  with  us  is  apt  to  have  a  large  proportion  of  needy 
inhabitants ;  and  the  same  is  true  of  a  region  exclusively 
devoted  to  cotton-growing  or  gold-mining.  A  diversity  of 
pursuits  is  indispensable  to  general  activity  and  enduring 
prosperity. 

Sixty  or  seventy  years  ago,  what  was  then  the  District, 
and  is  now  the  State,  of  Maine,  was  a  proverb  in  New 
England  for  the  poverty  of  its  j^eople,  mainly  because  they 
were  so  largely  engaged  in  timber-cutting.  The  great 
grain-growing,  wheat-exporting  districts  of  the  Russian 
empire  have  a  poor  and  rude  people  for  a  like  reason. 
Thus  the  industry  of  Massachusetts  is  immensely  more  pro- 
ductive per  head  than  that  of  North  Carolina,  or  even  that 
of  Indiana,  as  it  will  cease  to  be  whenever  manufactures 
shall  have  been  diflJiised  over  our  whole  country,  as  they 
must  and  will  be.  In  Massachusetts  half  the  women  and 
nearly  half  the  children  add  by  their  daily  labor  to  the 
aggregate  of  realized  wealth ;  in  North  Carolina  and  in 
Indiana  little  wealth  is  produced  save  by  the  labor  of  men, 
including  boys  of  fifteen  or  upward.  When  this  disparity 
shall  have  ceased,  its  consequence  will  also  disappear. 


SIXTH  READER.  401 


CXV.    THE   LAST    DAYS    OF    HERCULANEUM. 


Edwin  Atherstone  was  born  at  Nottingham,  England,  about  1788, 
and  became  known  to  the  literary  world  chiefly  through  two  poems, 
"The  Last  Days  of  Herculaneum  "  and  "The  Fall  of  Nineveh."  Both 
poems  are'written  in  blank  verse,  and  are  reinarkable  for  Iheir  splendor 
of  diction  and  great  descriptive  power.  Atherstone  is  compared  to 
Thomson,  whom  he  resembles  somewhat  in  style. 


There  was  a  man, 
A  Roman  soldier,  for  some  daring  deed 
That  trespassed  on  the  laws,  in  dungeon  low 
Chained  down.     His  was  a  noble  spirit,  rough, 
But  generous,  and  brave,  and  kind. 
He  had  a  son;  it  was  a  rosy  boy, 
A  little  faithful  copy  of  his  sire, 
In  face  and  gesture.     From  infancy,  the  child 
Had  been  his  father's  solace  and  his  care. 

Every  sport 
The  father  shared  and  heightened.     But  at  length. 
The  rigorous  law  had  grasped  him,  and  condemned 
To  fetters  and  to  darkness. 

The  captive's  lot. 
He  felt  in  all  its  bitterness :  the  walls 
Of  his  deep  dungeon  answered  many  a  sigh 
And  heart-heaved  groan.     His  tale  was  known,  and  touched 
His  jailer  with  compassion;  and  the  boy. 
Thenceforth  a  frequent  visitor,  beguiled 
His  father's  lingering  hours,  and  brought  a  balm 
With  his  loved  presence,  that  in  every  wound 
Dropped  healing.     But,  in  this  terrific  hour, 
He  was  a  poisoned  arrow  in  the  breast 
Where  he  had  been  a  cure. 

6.-34. 


402  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

With  earliest  morn 
Of  that  first  day  of  darkness  and  amaze, 
He  came.     The  iron  door  was  closed — for  them 
Never  to  open  more !     The  day,  the  night 
Dragged  slowly  by;  nor  did  they  know  the  fate 
Impending  o'er  the  city.     "Well  they  heard 
The  pent-up  thunders  in  the  earth  beneath, 
And  felt  its  giddy  rocking;  and  the  air 
Grew  hot  at  length,  and  thick;  but  in  his  straw 
The  boy  was  sleeping:  and  the  father  hoped 
The  earthquake  might  pass  by:  nor  would  he  Avake 
From  his  sound  rest  the  unfearing  child,  nor  tell 
The  dangers  of  their  state. 

On  his  low  couch 
The  fettered  soldier  sank,  and,  with  deep  awe, 
Listened  the  fearful  sounds :  with  upturned  eye, 
To  the  great  gods  he  breathed  a  prayer;  then,  strove 
To  calm  himself,  and  lose  in  sleep  awhile 
His  useless  terrors.     But  he  could  not  sleep: 
His  body  burned  with  feverish  heat ;  his  chains 
Clanked  loud,  although  he  moved  not;  deep  in  earth 
Groaned  unimaginable  thunders ;  sounds, 
Fearful  and  ominous,  arose  and  died. 
Like  the  sad  meanings  of  November's  wind. 
In  the  blank  midnight.     Deepest  horror  chilled 
His  blood  that  burned  before ;  cold,  clammy  sweats 
Came  o'er  him ;  then  anon,  a  fiery  thrill 
Shot  through  his  veins.     Now,  on  his  couch  he  shrunk. 
And  shivered  as  in  fear;  now,  upright  leaped. 
As  though  he  heard  the  battle  trumpet  sound. 
And  longed  to  cope  with  death. 

He  slept,  at  last, 
A  troubled,  dreamy  sleep.     Well  had  he  slept 


SIXTH  READER.  403 

Never  to  waken  more!     His  hours  are  few, 
But  terrible  his  agony. 

Soon  the  storm 
Burst  forth ;  the  lightnings  glanced ;  the  air 
Shook  with  the  thunders.     They  awoke ;  they  sprung 
Amazed  upon  their  feet.     The  dungeon  glowed 
A  moment  as  in  sunshine  —  and  was  dark : 
Again,  a  flood  of  white  flame  fills  the  cell. 
Dying  away  upon  the  dazzled  eye 
In  darkening,  quivering  tints,  as  stunning  sound 
Dies  throbbing,  ringing  in  the  ear. 

With  intensest  avyo, 
The  soldier's  frame  was  filled;  and  many  a  thought 
Of  strange  foreboding  hurried  through  his  mind, 
As  underneath  he  felt  the  fevered  earth 
Jarring  and  lifting;  and  the  massive  walls. 
Heard  harshly  grate  and  strain :  yet  knew  he  not, 
While  evils  undefined  and  yet  to  come 
Glanced  through  his  thoughts,  what  deep  and  cureless  wound 
Fate  had  already  given. — Where,  man  of  woe! 
Where,  wretched  father!  is  thy  boy?     Thou  call'st 
His  name  in  vain :  —  he  can  not  answer  thee. 

Loudly  the  father  called  upon  his  child : 

No  voice  replied.     Trembling  and  anxiously 

He  searched  their  couch  of  straw ;  with  headlong  haste 

Trod  round  his  stinted  limits,  and,  low  bent, 

Gi'oped  darkling  on  the  earth: — no  child  was  there. 

Again  he  called :  again,  at  farthest  stretch 

Of  his  accursed  fetters,  till  the  blood 

Seemed  bursting  from  his  ears,  and  from  his  eyes 

Fire  flashed,  he  strained  wath  arm  extended  far. 

And  fingers  widely  spread,  greedy  to  touch 


404  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Though  but  his  idol's  garment.     Useless  toil ! 
Yet  still  renewed :  still  round  and  round  he  goes, 
And  strains,  and  snatches,  and  with  dreadful  cries 
Calls  on  his  boy. 

Mad  frenzy  fires  him  now. 
He  plants  against  the  wall  his  feet;  his  chain 
Grasps;  tugs  with  giant  strength  to  force  away 
The  deep-driven  staple ;  yells  and  shrieks  with  rage : 
And,  like  a  desert  lion  in  the  snare. 
Raging  to  break  his  toils,  —  to  and  fro  bounds. 
But  see!  the  ground  is  opening; — a  blue  light 
Mounts,  gently  waving,  —  noiseless; — thin  and  cold 
It  seems,  and  like  a  rainbow  tint,  not  flame; 
But  by  its  luster,  on  the  earth  outstretched, 
Behold  the  lifeless  child!  his  dress  is  singed. 
And,  o'er  his  face  serene,  a  darkened  line 
Points  out  the  lightning's  track. 

The  father  saw, 
And  all  his  fury  fled :  —  a  dead  calm  fell 
That  instant  on  him: — speechless  —  fixed  —  he  stood, 
And  with  a  look  that  never  wandered,  gazed 
Intensely  on  the  corse.     Those  laughing  eyes 
Were  not  yet  closed, — and  round  those  ruby  lips 
The  Avonted  smile  returned. 

Silent  and  pale 
The  fiither  stands: — no  tear  is  in  his  eye:  — 
The  thunders  bellow; — but  he  hears  them  not:  — 
The  ground  lifts  like  a  sea ;  —  he  knows  it  not :  — 
The  strong  walls  grind  and  gape:  —  the  vaulted  roof 
Takes  shape  like  bubble  tossing  in  the  wind ; 
See !  he  looks  up  and  smiles ;  for  death  to  him 
Is  happiness.     Yet  could  one  last  embrace 
Be  given,  'twere  still  a  sweeter  thing  to  die. 


SIXTH  READER.  406 

It  Avill  be  given.     Look !  how  the  rolling  ground, 
At  every  swell,  nearer  and  still  more  near 
Moves  toward  the  father's  outstretched  arm  his  boy. 
Once  he  has  touched  his  garment :  —  how  his  eye 
Lightens  with  love,  and  hope,  and  anxious  fears ! 
Ha,  see!  he  has  him  now! — he  clasps  him  round; 
Kisses  his  face ;  puts  back  the  curling  locks, 
That  shaded  his  fine  brow ;  looks  in  his  eyes ; 
Grasps  in  his  own  those  little  dimpled  hands; 
Then  folds  him  to  his  breast,  as  he  Avas  wont 
To  lie  when  sleeping;  and  resigned,  aAvaits 
Undreaded  death. 

And  death  came  soon  and  swift 
And  pangless.     The  huge  pile  sank  down  at  once 
Lito  the  opening  earth.     Walls  —  arches  —  roof — 
And  deep  foundation  stones — all  —  mingling  —  fell! 

Notes. — Herculaneum  and  Pompeii  were  cities  of  Italy, 
which  were  desti'oyed  by  an  eruiDtion  of  Vesuvius  in  the  year 
79  A.  D.,  being  entirely  buried  under  ashes  and  lava.  During 
the  last  century  tliey  have  been  dug  out  to  a  considerable 
extent,  and  many  of  the  streets,  bviildings,  and  utensils  have 
been  found  in  a  state  of  perfect  preservation. 


CXVI.    HOW   MEN   REASON. 

My  friend,  the  Professor,  whom  I  have  mentioned  to  you 
once  or  tAvice,  told  me  yesterday  that  somebody  had  been 
abusing  him  in  some  of  the  journals  of  his  calling.  I  told 
him  that  I  did  n't  doubt  he  deserved  it ;  that  I  hof)ed  he 
did  deserve  a  little  abuse  occasionally,  and  Avould  for  a 
number  of  years  to  come;  that  nobody  could  do  any  thing 
to  make  his  neighbors  Aviser  or  better  Avithout  being  liable 
to  abuse  for  it;  especially  that  people  hated  to  have  their 


406  ECLECTIC  SERIES'. 

little  mistakes  made  fun  of,  and  perhaps  he  had  been  doing 
something  of  the  kind.     The  Professor  smiled. 

Now,  said  I,  hear  what  I  am  going  to  say.  It  Avill  not 
take  many  years  to  bring  you  to  the  period  of  life  Avhen 
men,  at  least  the  majority  of  writing  and  talking  men,  do 
nothing  but  praise.  Men,  like  peaches  and  pears,  grow 
sweet  a  little  while  before  they'  begin  to  decay.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is, — Avhether  a  spontaneous  change,  mental 
or  bodily,  or  whether  it  is  through  experience  of  the  thank- 
lessness  of  critical  honesty,  —  but  it  is  a  fact,  that  most 
writers,  except  sour  and  unsuccessful  ones,  get  tired  of 
finding  fault  at  about  the  time  when  they  are  beginning  to 
grow  old. 

As  a  general  thing,  I  would  not  give  a  great  deal  for 
the  fair  words  of  a  critic,  if  he  is  himself  an  author,  over 
fifty  years  of  age.  At  thirty,  we  are  all  trying  to  cut  our 
names  in  big  letters  upon  the  walls  of  this  tenement  of 
life ;  twenty  years  later,  we  have  carved  it,  or  shut  up  our 
jack-knives.  Then  we  are  ready  to  help  others,  and  care 
less  to  hinder  any,  because  nobody's  elbows  are  in  our  way. 
So  I  am  glad  you  have  a  little  life  left;  you  will  be  sac- 
charine enough  in  a  few  years. 

Some  of  the  softening  effects  of  advancing  age  have 
struck  me  very  much  in  what  I  have  heard  or  seen  here 
and  elsewhere.  I  just  now  spoke  of  the  sweetening  process 
that  authors  undergo.  Do  you  know  that  in  the  gradual 
passage  from  maturity  to  helplessness  the  harshest  charac- 
ters sometimes  have  a  period  in  which  they  are  gentle  and 
placid  as  young  children  ?  I  have  heard  it  said,  but  I  can 
not  be  sponsor  for  its  truth,  that  the  famous  chieftain, 
Lochiel,  was  rocked  in  a  cradle  like  a  baby,  in  his  old  age. 
An  old  man,  whose  studies  had  been  of  the  severest 
scholastic  kind,  used  to  love  to  hear  little  nursery-stories 
read  over  and  over  to  him.  One  who  saw  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  in  his  last  years  describes  him  as  very  gentle  in 
his  aspect  and  demeanor.     I  remember  a  person  of  singu- 


SIXTH  HEADER.  407 

larly  stern  and  lofty  bearing  who  became  remarkably 
gracious  and  easy  in  all  his  ways  in  the  later  period  of 
his  life. 

And  that  leads  me  to  say  that  men  often  remind  me  of 
pears  in  their  way  of  coming  to  maturity.  Some  are  ripe 
at  twenty,  like  human  Jargonelles,  and  must  be  made  the 
most  of,  for  their  day  is  soon  over.  Some  come  into  their 
perfect  condition  late,  like  the  autumn  kinds,  and  they  last 
better  than  the  summer  fruit.  And  some,  that,  like  the 
Winter-NeHs,  have  been  hard  and  uninviting  until  all  the 
rest  have  had  their  season,  get  their  glow  and  perfume 
long  after  the  frost  and  snow  have  done  their  worst  with 
,  the  orchards.  Beware  of  rash  criticisms;  the  rough  and 
stringent  fruit  you  condemn  may  be  an  autumn  or  a  winter 
pear,  and  that  which  you  picked  up  beneath  the  same 
bough  in  August  may  have  been  only  its  worm-eaten 
windfalls.  Milton  was  a  Saint-Germain  Avith  a  graft  of  the 
roseate  Early-Catherine.  Rich,  juicy,  lively,  fragrant,  rus- 
set-skinned old  Chaucer  was  an  Easter-Beurre ;  the  buds  of 
a  new  summer  were  swelling  when  he  ri^^ened. 

— Solines. 

Notes. — The  above  selection  is  from  the  "Autocrat  of  the 
Breakfast-table." 

Lochiel  was  a  celebrated  Scottish  chief. 

The  Duke  of  Welling'ton  (b.  1769,  d.  1852)  was  the  most 
celebrated  of  English  generals.  He  won  great  renown  in 
India  and  in  the  "  Peninsular  War,"  and  commanded  the 
allied  forces  when  Napoleon  was  defeated  at  Waterloo. 

Easter-Beurre,  Saint-G-ermain,  "Winter -Nelis,  Early- 
Catherine  and  Jargonelles  are  the  names  of  certain  vari- 
eties of  jDears. 

Milton.     See  biographical  notice  on  page  312. 

Chaucer,  Geofirey  (b.  1328,  d.  1400),  is  often  called  "The 
Father  of  English  Poetry."  He  was  the  first  poet  buried  in 
Westminster  Abbey.  He  was  a  pi'olific  writer,  but  his  "Can- 
terbury Tales"  is  by  far  the  best  known  of  his  works. 


408  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


CXVII.    THUNDER-STORM   ON   THE  ALPS, 

Clear,  placid  Leman!  thy  contrasted  lake, 
With  the  wild  world  I  dwell  in,  is  a  thing 
Which  warns  me,  with  its  stillness,  to  forsake 
Earth's  troubled  waters  for  a  purer  spring. 
This  quiet  sail  is  as  a  noiseless  wing 
To  waft  me  from  distraction;  once  I  loved 
Torn  ocean's  roar,  but  thy  soft  murmuring 
Sounds  sweet,  as  if  a  sister's  voice  reproved, 
That  I  with  stern  delights  should  e'er  have  been  so  moved. 

All  heaven  and  earth  are  still  —  though  not  in  sleep, 
But  breathless,  as  we  grow  when  feeling  most; 
And  silent,  as  we  stand  in  thoughts  too  deep  — 
All  heaven  and  earth  arc  still :  from  the  high  host 
Of  stars,  to  the  lulled  lake  and  mountain-coast, 
All  is  concentered  in  a  life  intense, 
Where  not  a  beam,  nor  air,  nor  leaf  is  lost, 
But  hath  a  part  of  being,  and  a  sense 
Of  that  which  is  of  all  Creator  and  defense. 

The  sky  is  changed!  and  such  a  change!     O  night, 
And  storm,  and  darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong, 
Yet  lovely  in  your  strength,  as  is  the  light 
Of  a  dark  eye  in  woman !     Far  along. 
From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among, 
Leaps  the  live  thunder!     Not  from  one  lone  cloud. 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue, 
And  Jura  answers,  through  her  misty  shi'oud, 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud! 

And  this  is  in  the  night. — Most  glorious  night! 
Thou  wert  not  sent  for  slumber !  let  me  be 


SIXTH  READER.  409 

A  sharer  in  thy  fierce  and  far  delight,— r 
A  portion  of  the  tempest  and  of  thee! 
How  the  lit  lake  shines,  —  a  phosphoric  sea! 
And  the  big  rain  comes  dancing  to  the  earth ! 
And  now  agam,  'tis  black,  —  and  now,  the  glee 
Of  the  loud  hills  shakes  with  its  mountain-mirth, 
As  if  they  did  rejoice  o'er  a  young  earthquake's  birth. 

Now,  where  the  swift  Rhone  cleaves  his  way  between 
Heights  which  appear  as  lovers  who  have  parted 
In  hate,  whose  mining  depths  so  intervene. 
That  they  can  meet  no  more,  though  broken-hearted; 
Though  in  their  souls,  which  thus  each  other  thwarted, 
Love  was  the  very  root  of  the  fond  rage. 
Which  blighted  their  life's  bloom,  and  then^ — departed! 
Itself  expired,  but  leaving  them  an  age 
Of  years,  all  winters, — war  within  themselves  to  wage. 

Now,  where  the  quick  Rhone  thus  hath  cleft  his  way, 
The  mightiest  of  the  storms  hath  ta'en  his  stand ! 
For  here,  not  one,  but  many  make  their  play. 
And  fling  their  thunder-bolts  from  hand  to  hand, 
Flashing  and  cast  around !     Of  all  the  band. 
The  brightest  through  these  parted  hills  hath  forked 
His  lightnings, — as  if  he  did  understand, 
That  in  such  gaps  as  desolation  worked. 
There,  the  hot  shaft  should  blast  whatever  therein  lurked. 

— Byron. 

Note. — Lake  Leman  (or  Lake  of  Geneva)  is  in  the  south- 
western part  of  Switzerland,  sej^arating  it  in  part  from  Savoy. 
The  Rhone  flows  through  it,  entering  by  a  deep  narrow  gap, 
with  mountain  groups  on  either  hand,  eight  or  nine  thousand 
feet  above  the  water.  The  scenery  about  the  lake  is  mag- 
nificent, the  Jura  mountains  bordering  it  on  the  north-west, 
and  the  Alps  lying  on  the  south  and  east. 
«.— 35. 


410  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


CXVIII.    ORIGIN   OF   PROPERTY. 

Sir  ■William  Blackstone,  172;^17S0,  was  the  son  of  a  silk  merchant, 
and  was  born  in  London.  He  studied  with  great  success  at  Oxford,  and 
was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1745.  At  first  he  could  not  obtain  business 
enough  in  his  profession  to  support  himself,  and  for  a  time  relinquished 
practice,  and  lectured  at  Oxford.  He  afterwards  returned  to  London,  and 
resumed  his  practice  with  great  success,  still  continuing  to  lecture  at 
Oxford.  He  was  elected  to  Parliament  in  1761 ;  and  in  1770  was  made  a 
justice  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas,  which  office  he  held  till  his  death. 
Blackstone's  fame  rests  upon  his  "Commentaries  on  the  Laws  of  En- 
gland," published  about  1769.  He  was  a  man  of  great  ability,  sound 
learning,  unflagging  industry,  and  moral  integrity.  His  great  work  is 
still  a  common  text-book  in  the  study  of  law. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  world,  we  are  informed  by  Holy 
Writ,  the  all-bountiful  Creator  gave  to  man  dominion  over 
all  the  earth,  and  "over  the  fish  of  the  sea,  and  over  the 
fowl  of  the  air,  and  over  every  living  thing  that  moveth 
upon  the  earth."  This  is  the  only  true  and  solid  founda- 
tion of  man's  dominion  over  external  things,  whatever  airy, 
metaphysical  notions  may  have  been  started  by  fanciful 
writers  upon  this  subject.  The  earth,  therefore,  and  all 
things  therein,  are  the  general  property  of  all  mankind, 
exclusive  of  other  beings,  from  the  immediate  gift  of  the 
Creator.  And  while  the  earth  continued  bare  of  inhab- 
itants, it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  all  was  in  common 
among  them,  and  that  every  one  took  from  the  public 
stock,  to  his  own  use,  such  things  as  his  immediate  necessi- 
ties required. 

These  general  notions  of  property  were  then  sufficient  to 
answer  all  the  purposes  of  human  life ;  and  might,  perhaps, 
still  have  answered  them,  had  it  been  possible  for  mankind 
to  have  remained  in  a  state  of  primeval  simplicity,  in 
which  "all  things  were  common  to  him."  Not  that  this 
communion  of  goods  seems  ever  to  have  been  applicable, 
even  in  the  earliest  ages,  to  aught  but  the  substance  of 
the  thing;  nor  could  it  be  extended  to  the  use  of  it.  For, 
by  the  law  of  nature  and  reason,  he  who  first  began  to  use 


SIXTH  READER.  41 1 

it,  acquired  therein  a  kind  of  transient  property,  that  lasted 
so  long  as  he  was  using  it,  and  no  longer.  Or,  to  speak 
with  greater  precision,  the  right  of  possession  continued  for 
the  same  time,  only,  that  the  act  of  possession  lasted. 

Thus,  the  ground  was  in  common,  and  no  part  of  it  was 
the  permanent  property  of  any  man  in  particular ;  yet,  who- 
ever was  in  the  occupation  of  any  determined  spot  of  it,  for 
rest,  for  shade,  or  the  like,  acquired  for  the  time  a  sort  of 
ownership,  from  which  it  would  have  been  unjust  and  con- 
trary to  the  law  of  nature  to  have  driven  him  by  force; 
but,  the  instant  that  he  quitted  the  use  or  occupation  of  it, 
another  might  seize  it  without  injustice.  Thus,  also,  a  vine 
or  other  tree  might  be  said  to  be  in  common,  as  all  men 
were  equally  entitled  to  its  produce ;  and  yet,  any  private 
individual  might  gain  the  sole  property  of  the  fruit  Avhich 
he  had  gathered  for  his  own  repast :  a  doctrine  well  illus- 
trated by  Cicero,  who  compares  the  world  to  a  great  theater, 
which  is  common  to  the  public,  and  yet  the  place  which 
any  man  has  taken  is,  for  the  time,  his  own. 

But  when  mankind  increased  in  number,  craft,  and 
ambition,  it  became  necessary  to  entertain  conceptions  of  a 
iliore  permanent  dominion ;  and  to  appropriate  to  individ- 
uals not  the  immediate  use  only,  but  the  very  substance  of 
the  thing  to  be  used.  Otherwise,  innumerable  tumults 
must  have  arisen,  and  the  good  order  of  the  world  been 
continually  broken  and  disturbed,  while  a  variety  of  per- 
sons were  striving  who  should  get  the  first  occupation  of 
the  same  thing,  or  disputing  Avhich  of  them  had  actually 
gained  it.  As  human  life  also  grew  more  and  more  refined, 
abundance  of  conveniences  were  devised  to  render  it  more 
easy,  commodious,  and  agreeable ;  as  habitations  for  shelter 
and  safety,  and  raiment  for  warmth  and  decency.  But  no 
man  would  be  at  the  trouble  to  provide  either,  so  long  as 
he  had  only  an  usufructuary  property  in  them,  which  was 
to  cease  the  instant  that  he  quitted  possession ;  if,  as  soon 
as  he  walked  out  of   his   tent  or  pulled   off  bis  garment, 


412  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

the  next  stranger  who  came  by  woukl  have  a  right  to  in- 
habit  the  one  and  to  wear  the  other. 

In  the  case  of  habitations,  in  particular,  it  was  natural 
to  observe  that  even  the  brute  creation,  to  whom  every 
thing  else  was  in  common,  maintained  a  kind  of  permanent 
property  in  their  dwellings,  esjoecially  for  the  protection  of 
their  young ;  that  the  birds  of  the  air  had  nests,  and  the 
beasts  of  the  fields  had  caverns,  the  invasion  of  which  they 
esteemed  a  very  flagrant  injustice,  and  would  sacrifice  their 
lives  to  preserve  them.  Hence  a  projDerty  was  soon  estab- 
lished in  every  man's  house  and  homestead ;  which  seem 
to  have  been  originally  mere  temporary  huts  or  movable 
cabins,  suited  to  the  design  of  Providence  for  more  speedily 
peopling  the  earth,  and  suited  to  the  wandering  life  of 
their  owners,  before  any  extensive  property  in  the  soil  or 
ground  was  established. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  movables  of  every  kind 
became  sooner  approj)riated  than  the  permanent,  substantial 
soil ;  partly  because  they  were  more  susceptible  of  a  long 
occuj^ancy,  which  might  be  continued  for  months  together 
without  any  sensible  interruption,  and  at  length,  by  usage, 
ripen  into  an  established  right;  but,  principally,  because 
few  of  them  could  be  fit  for  use  till  improved  and  mel- 
iorated by  the  bodily  labor  of  the  occupant;  which  bodily 
labor,  bestowed  upon  any  subject  which  before  lay  in  com- 
mon to  all  men,  is  universally  allowed  to  give  the  fairest 
and  most  reasonable  title  to  an  exclusive  property  therein. 

The  article  of  food  was  a  more  immediate  call,  and 
therefore  a  more  early  consideration.  Such  as  were  not 
contented  with  the  spontaneous  product  of  the  earth, 
sought  for  a  more  solid  refreshment  in  the  flesh  of  beasts, 
which  they  obtained  by  hunting.  But  the  frequent  dis- 
appointments incident  to  that  method  of  provision,  induced 
them  to  gather  together  such  animals  as  were  of  a  more 
tame  and  sequacious  nature,  and  to  establish  a  permanent 
property    in    their    flocks    and    herds,    in   order   to  sustain 


SIXTH  READER.  413 

themselves  in  a  loss  precarious  manner,  partly  hy  the  milk 
of  the  dams,  and  partly  by  the  flesh  of  the  young. 

The  support  of  these  their  cattle  made  the  article  of 
water  also  a  very  important  point.  And,  therefore,  the 
book  of  Genesis,  (the  most  venerable  monument  of  an- 
tiquity, considered  merely  with  a  view  to  history,)  will 
furnish  us  with  frequent  instances  of  violent  contentions 
concerning  wells;  the  exclusive  property  of  which  appears 
to  have  been  established  in  the  first  digger  or  occupant, 
even  in  places  where  the  ground  and  herbage  remained  yet 
in  common.  Thus,  we  find  Abraham,  who  was  but  a 
sojourner,  asserting  his  right  to  a  well  in  the  country  of 
Abimelech,  and  exacting  an  oath  for  his  security  "  because 
he  had  digged  that  well."  And  Isaac,  about  ninety  years 
afterwards,  reclaimed  this  his  father's  property ;  and,  after 
much  contention  with  the  Philistines,  was  suflfered  to  enjoy 
it  in  peace. 

All  this  while,  the  soil  and  pasture  of  the  earth  re- 
mained still  in  common  as  before,  and  open  to  every  occu- 
pant ;  except,  perhaps,  in  the  neighborhood  of  towns,  where 
the  necessity  of  a  sole  and  exclusive  property  in  lands,  (for 
the  sake  of  agriculture,)  was  earlier  felt,  and  therefore 
more  readily  comj^lied  with.  Otherwise,  when  the  multi- 
tude of  men  and  cattle  had  consumed  every  convenience  on 
one  spot  of  ground,  it  was  deemed  a  natural  right  to  seize 
upon  and  occuj^y  such  other  lands  as  would  more  easily 
supply  their  necessities. 

We  have  a  striking  example  of  this  in  the  history  of 
Abraham  and  his  nephew  Lot.  When  their  joint  sub- 
stance became  so  great  that  pasture  and  other  conveniences 
grew  scarce,  the  natural  consequence  was  that  a  strife  arose 
between  their  servants ;  so  that  it  was  no  longer  practicable 
to  dwell  together.  This  contention,  Abraham  thus  endeav- 
ored to  compose:  "Let  there  be  no  strife,  I  pray  thee,  be- 
tween me  and  thee.  Is  not  the  whole  land  before  thee? 
Separate  thyself,  I  pray  thee,  from  me.     If  thou  wilt  take 


414  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

the  left  hand,  then  I  will  go  to  the  right;  or  if  thou 
depart  to  the  right  hand,  then  I  will  go  to  the  left."  This 
plainly  implies  an  acknowledged  right  in  either  to  occupy 
whatever  ground  he  pleased  that  was  not  preoccupied  by 
other  tribes.  "  And  Lot  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  beheld  all 
the  plain  of  Jordan,  that  it  was  well  watered  every-where, 
even  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord.  Then  Lot  chose  him  all 
the  plain  of  Jordan,  and  journeyed  east;  and  Abraham 
dwelt  in  the  land  of  Canaan." 

As  the  world  by  degrees  grew  more  populous,  it  daily 
became  more  difficult  to  find  out  new  spots  to  inhabit, 
without  encroaching  upon  former  occupants;  and,  by  con- 
stantly occupying  the  same  individual  spot,  the  fruits  of 
the  earth  were  consumed,  and  its  spontaneous  products  de- 
stroyed, without  any  provision  for  future  supjily  or  succes- 
sion. It,  therefore,  became  necessary  to  pursue  some  regu- 
lar method  of  providing  a  constant  subsistence;  and  this 
necessity  produced,  or  at  least  promoted  and  encouraged 
the  art  of  agriculture.  And  the  art  of  agriculture,  by  a 
regular  connection  and  consequence,  introduced  and  estab- 
lished the  idea  of  a  more  permanent  property  in  the  soil 
than  had  hitherto  been  received  and  adopted. 

It  was  clear  that  the  earth  would  not  produce  her  fruits 
in  sufficient  quantities  without  the  assistance  of  tillage ;  but 
who  would  be  at  the  pains  of  tilling  it,  if  another  might 
watch  an  opportunity  to  seize  upon  and  enjoy  the  product 
of  his  industry,  art  and  labor?  Had  not,  therefore,  a  sep- 
arate property  in  lands,  as  well  as  movables,  been  vested  in 
some  individuals,  the  world  must  have  continued  a  forest, 
and  men  have  been  mere  animals  of  prey.  Whereas,  now, 
(so  graciously  has  Providence  interwoven  our  duty  and  our 
happiness  together,)  the  result  of  this  very  necessity  has 
been  the  ennobling  of  the  human  species,  by  giving  it 
opportunities  of  improving  its  rational,  as  well  as  of  exert- 
ing its  natural  faculties. 

Necessity   begat  property;    and,   in  order  to  insure  that 


SIXTH  READER.  415 

property,  recourse  was  had  to  civil  society,  which  brought 
along  with  it  a  long  train  of  inseparable  concomitants: 
states,  government,  laws,  punishments,  and  the  public  exer- 
cise of  religious  duties.  Thus  connected  together,  it  was 
found  that  a  part  only  of  society  was  sufficient  to  provide, 
by  their  manual  labor,  for  the  necessary  subsistence  of  all ; 
and  leisure  was  given  to  others  to  cultivate  the  human 
mind,  to  invent  useful  arts,  and  to  lay  the  foundations  of 
science. 

Note. — Cicero.     See  note  on  page  156, 


CXIX.    BATTLE    OF   WATERLOO. 

There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 
Her  Beauty  and  her  Chivalry,  and  bright 
The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men. 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily;  and  when 
Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell. 
Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell; 
But  hush !  hark !  —  a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising  knell ! 

Did  ye  not  hear  it? — No;  'twas  but  the  Avind, 
Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street; 
On  with  the  dance !  let  joy  be  unconfined ; 
No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 
To  chasa  the  glowing  Hours  with  flying  feet — 
But,  hark !  —  that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat, 
And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before ! 
Arm!  arm!  it  is  —  it  is  the  cannon's  opening  roar! 


416  ECLECTIC  SEBIES. 

Ah !  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress, 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which,  but  an  hour  ago 
Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness ; 
And  there  were  sudden  partiugs,  such  as  press 
The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs 
Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated:  who  would  guess 
If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes, 
Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful  morn  could  rise. 

And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste:  the  steed, 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 
And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war; 
And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal  afar; 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star; 
While  thronged  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb, 
Or  whispering  with    white  lips — "The   foe!     They  <yom<;^ 
They  come ! " 

And  Ardennes  waves  above  them  her  green  leaves, 
Dewy  with  nature's  tear-drops,  as  they  pass. 
Grieving,  if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieves. 
Over  the  unreturning  brave! — alas! 
Ere  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass, 
Which,  now,  beneath  them,  but  above,  shall  grow. 
In  its  next  verdure,  when  this  fiery  mass 
Of  living  valor,  rolling  on  the  foe, 
And  burning  with  high  hope,  shall  molder,  cold  and  low. 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life. 
Last  eve  in  beauty's  circle  proudly  gay, 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal-sound  of  strife, 
The  morn,  the  marshaling  in  arms,  — the  day, 


SIXTH  READER.  417 

Battle's  magnificently  stern  array ! 
The  thunder  clouds  close  o'er  it,  which  when  rent, 
The  earth  is  covered  thick  with  other  clay, 
Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heaped  and  pent, 
Rider  and  horse, — friend,   foe, — in  one  red  burial  blent. 

— Byron. 

Notes. — The  Battle  of  Waterloo  was  fought  on  June  18th, 
1815,  between  the  French  army  on  one  side,  commanded  by 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  and  the  English  army  and  allies  on  the 
other  side,  commanded  by  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  At  the 
commencement  of  the  battle,  some  of  the  officers  were  at  a 
ball  at  Brussels,  a  short  distance  from  Waterloo,  and  being 
notified  of  the  approaching  contest  by  the  cannonade,  left  the 
ball-room  for  the  field  of  battle. 

The  wood  of  Soignies  lay  between  the  field  of  Waterloo 
and  Brussels.  It  is  supposed  to  be  a  remnant  of  the  forest  of 
Ardennes. 


CXX.    "WITH   BRAINS,  SIR." 

John  Brown,  ISIO ,  was  born  in  Lanarkshire,  Scotland,  and  grad- 
uated at  tlie  University  of  Edinburgli.  His  father  was  John  Brown,  an 
eniiuent  clergyman  and  the  author  of  several  books.  Dr.  Brown's  literary 
reputation  rests  largely  upon  a  series  of  papers  contributed  to  the  "North 
British  Review."  '  Rab  and  his  Friends,"  a  collection  of  papers  pub- 
lished in  book-form,  is  tlie  most  widely  known  of  all  his  writings. 

"Pray,  Mr.  Opie,  may  I  ask  you  what  you  mix  your 
colors  with?"  said  a  brisk  dilettante  student  to  the  great 
painter.  "With  brains,  sir,"  was  the  gruff  reply  —  and 
the  right  one.  It  did  not  give  much  of  information ;  it  did 
not  expound  the  principles  and  rules  of  the  art;  but,  if 
the  inquirer  had  the  commodity  referred  to,  it  would 
awaken  him ;  it  would  set  him  a-going,  a-th inking,  and 
a-painting  to  good  purpose.  If  he  had  not  the  where- 
withal, as  was  likely  enough,  the  less  he  bad  to  do  with 
colors  and  their  mixture  the  better. 


418  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Many  other  artists,  when  asked  such  a  question,  would 
have  either  set  about  detailing  the  mechanical  composition 
of  such  and  such  colors,  in  such  and  such  proportions, 
rubbed  up  so  and  so ;  or  perhaps  they  would  (and  so  much 
the  better,  but  not  the  best)  have  shown  him  how  they  laid 
them  on;  but  even  this  would  leave  him  at  the  critical 
point.  Opie  preferred  going  to  the  quick  and  the  heart  of 
the  matter:   "With  brains,  sir." 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  was  taken  by  a  friend  to  see  a 
picture.  He  was  anxious  to  admire  it,  and  he  looked  it 
over  with  a  keen  and  careful  but  favorable  eye.  "Capital 
composition ;  correct  drawing ;  the  color,  tone,  ckiar-oscuro 
excellent;  but  —  but  —  it  wants  —  hang  it,  it  wants  —  that!" 
snapping  his  fingers;  and,  wanting  "that,"  though  it  had 
every  thing  else,  it  was  worth  nothing. 

Again,  Etty  was  ai)pointed  teacher  of  the  students  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  having  been  preceded  by  a  clever,  talka- 
tive, scientific  expounder  of  aesthetics,  who  delighted  to  tell 
the  young  men  hoiv  every  thing  was  done,  how  to  copy  this, 
and  how  to  express  that.  A  student  came  up  to  the  new 
master,  "How  should  I  do  this,  sir?"  "Suppose  you  try." 
Another,  "What  does  this  mean,  Mr.  Etty?"  "Suppose 
you  look."  "But  I  have  looked."  "Suppose  you  look 
again." 

And  they  did  try,  and  they  did  look,  and  looked  again ; 
and  they  saw  and  achieved  what  they  never  could  have 
done  had  the  how  or  the  what  (supposing  this  possible, 
which  it  is  not,  in  full  and  highest  meaning)  been  told 
them,  or  done  for  them;  in  the  one  case,  sight  and  action 
were  immediate,  exact,  intense,  and  secure ;  in  the  other, 
mediate,  feeble,  and  lost  as  soon  as  gained. 


Notes. — Opie,  John  (b.  1761,  d.  1807),  was  born  in  Wales, 
and  was  known  as  the  "  Cornish  wonder."  He  became  cele- 
brated as  a  portrait  painter,  but  afterwards  devoted  himself 


SIXTH  READER.  419 

to  historical  subjects.  He  was  professor  of  painting  at  the 
Koyal  Academy. 

Reynolds.     See  note  on  page  379. 

Etty,  William  (b.  1787,  d.  1849),  is  considered  one  of  the 
principal  artists  of  the  modern  English  school.  His  pictures 
are  mainly  historical. 

The  Royal  Academy  of  Arts,  in  London,  was  founded  in 
1768.  It  is  under  the  direction  of  forty  artists  of  the  first 
rank  in  their  several  professions,  who  have  the  title  of  "Eoyal 
Academicians."  The  admission  to  the  Academy  is  free  to  all 
properly  qualified  students. 


CXXI.    THE    NEW    ENGLAND    PASTOR. 

Timothy  Dwight,  17.52-1817,  was  born  at  Northampton,  Massachu- 
setts. Hi.s  mother  was  a  daughter  of  the  celebrated  Jonathan  Ed- 
wards. It  is  said  that  she  taught  her  sou  the  alphabet  in  one  lesson, 
that  he  could  read  the  Bible  at  four  years  of  age,  aud  that  he  studied 
Latin  by  himself  at  six.  He  graduated  at  Yale  in  1769,  returned  as  tutor 
in  1771,  and  continued  six  yeai's.  He  was  chaplain  in  a  brigade  under 
General  Putnam  for  a  tniie.  In  1778  his  father  died,  and  for  five  years  he 
supported  liis  mother  and  a  family  of  twelve  children  by  farming,  teach- 
ing and  preaching.  From  1783  to  1795  he  was  pastor  at  Greenfield,  Con- 
necticut. He  was  then  chosen  President  of  Yale  College,  and  remained 
In  oflice  till  he  died.  Dr.  Dwight  was  a  man  of  fine  bodily  presence,  of 
extended  learning,  and  untiring  industry.  His  presidency  of  the  college 
was  highly  successful.  His  patriotism  was  no  less  ardent  and  true  than 
his  piety.  In  his  younger  days  he  wrote  considerably  in  verse.  His 
poetry  is  not  all  of  a  very  high  order,  but  some  pieces  possess  merit. 

The  place,  with  east  and  western  sides, 
A  wide  and  verdant  street  divides : 
And  here  the  houses  faced  the  day, 
And  there  the  lawns  in  beauty  lay. 
There,  turret-crowned,  and  peutral,  stood 
A  neat  and  solemn  house  of  God, 
Across  the  way,  beneath  the  shade 
Two  elms  with  sober  silence  spread, 
The  preacher  lived.     O'er  all  the  place 
His  mansion  cast  a  Sunday  grace ; 


420  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Dumb  stillness  sate  the  fields  around; 
His  garden  seemed  a  hallowed  ground; 
Swains  ceased  to  laugh  aloud,  when  near, 
And  school-boys  never  sported  there. 

In  the  same  mild  and  temperate  zone, 
Twice  twenty  years,  his  course  had  run, 
His  locks  of  flowing  silver  spread 
A  crown  of  glory  o'er  his  head ; 
His  face,  the  image  of  his  mind. 
With  grave  and  furrowed  wisdom  shined ; 
Not  cold ;  but  glowing  still,  and  bright ; 
Yet  glowing  with  October  light: 
As  evening  blends,  with  beauteous  ray, 
Approaching  night  with  shining  day. 

His  Cure  his  thoughts  engrossed  alone: 
For  them  his  pamful  course  was  run: 
To  bless,  to  save,  his  only  care ; 
To  chill  the  guilty  soul  with  fear ; 
To  point  the  pathway  to  the  skies. 
And  teach,  and  urge,  and  aid,  to  rise; 
Where  strait,  and  diflicult  to  keep. 
It  climbs,  and  climbs,  o'er  Virtue's  steep. 


CXXII,    DEATH    OF   ABSALOM. 

David  numbered  the  people  that  were  with  him,  and  set 
captains  of  thousands  and  captains  of  hundreds  over  them. 
And  David  sent  forth  a  third  part  of  the  people  under  the 
hand  of  Joab,  and  a  third  part  under  the  hand  of  Abishai, 
the  son  of  Zeruiah,  Joab's  brother,  and  a  third  part  under 
the  hand  of  Ittai,  the  Gittite. 


SIXTH  READER.  421 

And  the  king  said  unto,  the  people,  I  will  surely  go  forth 
with  you  myself  also.  But  the  people  answered,  thou  shalt 
not  go  forth ;  for  if  we  flee  away,  they  will  not  care  for 
us;  neither  if  half  of  us  die,  will  they  care  for  us;  but 
now  thou  art  worth  ten  thousand  of  us ;  therefore  now  it 
is  better  that  thou  succor  us  out  of  the  city  And  the 
king  said  unto  them,  What  seemeth  you  best,  i  will  do. 

And  the  king  stood  by  the  gate-side,  and  al(  the  people 
came  out  by  hundreds  and  by  thousands.  And  the  king 
commanded  Joab,  and  Abishai,  and  Ittai,  saying,  Deal 
gently  for  my  sake  with  the  young  man,  even  with  Absa- 
lom. And  all  the  people  heard  when  the  king  gave  all 
the  captains  charge  concerning  Absalom. 

So  the  people  went  out  into  the  field  against  Israel ;  and 
the  battle  was  in  the  wood  of  Ephraim;  where  the  people 
of  Israel  w^ere  slain  before  the  servants  of  David,  and  there 
was  there  a  great  slaughter  that  day  of  twenty  thousand 
men.  For  the  battle  was  there  scattered  over  the  face  of 
all  the  country :  and  the  wood  devoured  more  people  that 
day  than  the  sword  devoured. 

And  Absalom  met  the  servants  of  David.  And  Absa' 
lom  rode  upon  a  mule,  and  the  mule  went  under  the  thick 
boughs  of  a  great  oak,  and  his  head  caught  hold  of  the 
oak,  and  he  was  taken  up  between  the  heaven  and  the 
earth;  and  the  mule  that  was  under  him  went  away. 

And  a  certain  man  saw  it,  and  told  Joab,  and  said, 
Behold,  I  saw  Absalom  hanged  in  an  oak.  And  Joab  said 
unto  the  man  that  told  him,  And,  behold,  thou  sawest 
him,  and  why  didst  thou  not  smite  him  there  to  the 
ground?  and  I  would  have  given  thee  ten  shekels  of  silver 
and  a  girdle.  And  the  man  said  unto  Joab,  Though  I 
should  receive  a  thousand  shekels  of  silver  in  my  hand, 
yet  would  I  not  put  forth  my  hand  against  the  king's  son; 
for,  in  our  hearing,  the  king  charged  thee,  and  Abishai, 
and  Ittai,  saying,  Beware  that  none  touch  the  young  man 
Absalom.     Otherwise,    I    should    have    wrought    falsehood 


422  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

against  mine  own  life ;  for  there  is  no  matter  hid  from  the 
king,  and  thou  thyself  wouldst  have  set  thyself  against 
me. 

Then  said  Joab,  I  may  not  tarry  thus  with  thee.  And 
he  took  three  darts  in  his  hand,  and  thrust  them  through 
the  heart  of  Absalom,  while  he  was  yet  alive  in  the  midst 
of  the  oak.  And  ten  young  men  that  bare  Joab's  armor, 
compassed  about  and  smote  Absalom,  and  slew  him.  And 
Joab  blew  the  trumpet,  and  the  people  returned  from  pur- 
suing after  Israel;  for  Joab  held  back  the  people. 

And  they  took  Absalom,  and  cast  him  into  a  great  pit 
in  the  wood,  and  laid  a  very  great  heap  of  stones  upon 
him ;  and  all  Israel  fled,  every  one  to  his  tent.  Now 
Absalom,  in  his  life-time,  had  taken  and  reared  up  for  him- 
self a  pillar,  which  is  in  the  king's  dale;  for  he  said,  I 
have  no  son  to  keep  my  name  in  remembrance;  and  he 
called  the  pillar  after  his  own  name;  and  it  is  called  unto 
this  day,  Absalom's  Place. 

Then  said  Ahimaaz,  the  son  of  Zadok,  Let  me  now  run, 
and  bear  the  king  tidings,  how  that  the  Lord  hath  avenged 
him  of  his  enemies.  And  Joab  said  unto  him,  Thou  shalt 
not  bear  tidings  this  day,  but  thou  shalt  bear  tidings 
another  day:  but  this  day  thou  shall  bear  no  tidings,  be- 
cause the  king's  son  is  dead.  Then  said  Joab  to  Cushi, 
Go,  tell  the  king  what  thou  hast  seen.  And  Cushi  bowed 
himself  unto  Joab,  and  ran. 

Then  said  Ahimaaz  the  son  of  Zadok  yet  again  to  Joab, 
But  howsoever,  let  mc,  I  pray  thee,  also  run  alter  Cushi. 
And  Joab  said,  Wherefore  wilt  thou  run,  my  son,  seeing 
that  thou  hast  no  tidings  ready?  But  howsoever,  said  he, 
let  me  run.  And  he  said  unto  him,  Eun.  Then  Ahimaaz 
ran  by  the  way  of  the  plain,  and  overran  Cushi. 

And  David  sat  between  the  two  gates ;  and  the  watch- 
man went  up  to  the  roof  over  the  gate  unto  the  wall,  and 
lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  looked,  and  behold,  a  man  running 
alone.     And  the  watchman  cried,  and  told  the  king.     And 


A 


SIXTH  READER.  423 

the  king  said,  If  he  be  alone,  there  is  tidings  in  his  mouth. 
And  he  came  apace,  and  drew  near. 

And  the  watchman  saw  another  man  running,  and  the 
watchman  called  unto  the  porter,  and  said,  Behold,  another 
man  running  alone.  And  the  king  said.  He  also  bringeth 
tidings.  And  the  watchman  said,  Methinketh  the  running 
of  the  foremost  is  like  the  running  of  Ahimaaz  the  son  of 
Zadok.  And  the  king  said.  He  is  a  good  man,  and  cometh 
with  good  tidings. 

And  Ahimaaz  called,  and  said  unto  the  king.  All  is 
well.  And  he  fell  down  to  the  earth  upon  his  face  before 
the  king,  and  said.  Blessed  be  the  Lord  thy  God,  which 
hath  delivered  up  the  men  that  lifted  up  their  hand  against 
my  lord  the  king.  And  the  king  said,  Is  the  young  man 
Absalom  safe?  And  Ahimaaz  answered,  When  Joab  sent 
the  king's  servant,  and  me  thy  servant,  I  saw  a  great 
tumult,  but  I  knew  not  what  it  Avas.  And  the  king  said 
unto  him.  Turn  aside  and  stand  here.  And  he  turned 
aside,  and  stood  still. 

And  behold,  Cushi  came;  and  Cushi  said.  Tidings  my 
lord  the  king;  for  the  Lord  hath  avenged  thee  this  day 
of  all  them  that  rose  up  against  thee.  And  the  king  said 
unto  Cushi,  Is  the  young  man  Absalom  safe?  And  Cushi 
answered.  The  enemies  of  my  lord  the  king,  and  all  that 
rise  against  thee  to  do  thee  hurt,  be  as  that  young 
man  is. 

And  the  king  was  much  moved,  and  went  up  to  the 
chamber  over  the  gate,  and  wept;  and  as  he  went,  thus 
he  said,  O  my  son  Absalom!  my  son,  my  son  Absalom! 
would  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  O  Absalom,  my  son,  my 
eon! 

' — II  Samuel,  Chap,  xviii. 


424  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


CXXIII.    ABRAHAM    DAVENPORT. 

'TwAS  on  a  May-day  of  the  far  old  year 
Seventeen  hundred  eighty,  that  there  fell 
Over  the  bloom  and  sweet  life  of  the  Sjiring, 
Over  the  fresh  earth  and  the  heaven  of  noon, 
A  horror  of  great  darkness,  like  the  night 
In  day  of  which  the  Norland  sagas  tell, — 
The  Twilight  of  the  Gods. 

The  low-hung  sky 
Was  black  with  ominous  clouds,  save  where  its  rim 
Was  fringed  with  a  dull  glow,  like  that  which  climbs 
The  crater's  sides  from  the  red  hell  below. 
Birds  ceased  to  sing,  and  all  the  barn-yard  fowls 
Roosted ;  the  cattle  at  the  pasture  bars 
Lowed,  and  looked  homeward ;  bats  on  leathern  wings 
Flitted  abroad  ,  the  sounds  of  labor  died ; 
Men  prayed,  and  women  wept;  all  ears  grew  sharp 
To  hear  the  doom-blast  of  the  trumpet  shatter 
The  black  sky,  that  the  dreadful  face  of  Christ 
Might  look  from  the  rent  clouds,  not  as  he  looked 
A  loving  guest  at  Bethany,  but  stern 
As  Justice  and  inexorable  Law. 

Meanwhile  in  the  old  State-House,  dim  as  ghosts. 

Sat  the  lawgivers  of  Connecticut, 

Trembling  beneath  their  legislative  robes. 

"It  is  the  Lord's  Great  Day!     Let  us  adjourn," 

Some  said ;  and  then,  as  if  with  one  accord, 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  Abraham  Davenport. 

He  rose,  slow-cleaving  with  his  steady  voice 
The  intolerable  hush.     "This  well  may  be 
The  Day  of  Judgment  which  the  world  awaits; 


SIXTH  READER.  425 

But  be  it  so  or  not,  I  only  know 

My  present  duty,  and  my  Lord's  command 

To  occupy  till  he  come.     So  at  the  post 

Where  he  hath  set  me  in  his  providence, 

I  choose,  for  one,  to  meet  him  face  to  face, — 

No  faithless  servant  frightened  from  my  task, 

But  ready  Wiieu  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  calls ; 

And  therefore,  with  all  reverence,  I  would  say, 

Let  God  do  his  work,  we  will  see  to  ours. 

Bring  in  the  candles."     And  they  brought  them  in. 

Then  by  the  flaring  lights  the  Sjieaker  read, 
Albeit  with  husky  voice  and  shaking  hands, 
An  act  to  amend  an  act  to  regulate 
The  shad  and  alewive  fisheiies.     Whereupon, 
Wisely  and  well  spake  Abrahan;  Davenport, 
Straight  to  the  question,  with  no  figures  o:^  speech 
Save  the  ten  Arab  signs,  yet  not.  without 
The  shrewd,  dry  humor  natural  to  the  man : 
His  awe-struck  colleagues  listening  all  the  while, 
Between  the  pauses  of  his  argument. 
To  hear  the  thunder  of  the  wrath  of  God 
Break  from  the  hollow  trumpet  of  the  cloud. 

And  there  he  stands  in  memory  to  this  day. 
Erect,  self-poised,  a  rugged  face,  half  seen 
Against  the  background  of  unnatural  dark, 
A  witness  to  the  ages  as  they  pass, 
That  simple  duty  hath  no  place  for  fear. 

—  Whittier. 

Note. — The  "  Dark  Day,"  rs  it  is  known,  occurred  May  19th, 
1780,  and  extended  over  all  New  England.  The  darkness 
came  on  about  ten  o'clock  in  tlie  morning,  and  lasted  with 
varying  degrees  of  intensity  until  midnight  of  the  next  day. 
The  cause  of  the  phenomenon  is  unknown. 

6.— 30. 


426  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


CXXIV.  THE  FALLS  OF  THE  YOSEMITE. 

Thomas  Starr  King,  1821-1864,  was  born  In  New  York  City.  His 
father  was  a  Uuiversalist  minister;  and,  in  1834,  he  settled  in  Charles- 
fbwn,-  Massachusetts.  The  son  was  preparing  to  enter  Harvard  Uni- 
versity, when  the  death  of  his  father  devolved  upon  him  the  support  of 
his  mother,  and  his  collegiate  course  had  to  be  given  up.  He  spent 
several  years  as  clerk  and  teacher,  improving  meanwhile  all  possible 
opportunities  for  study.  In  1846  he  was  settled  over  the  church  to  which 
his  father  had  preached  in  Charlestown.  Two  years  later,  he  was  called 
to  the  Hollis  Street  Unitarian  Church  in  Boston.  Here  his  eloquence  and 
active  public  spirit  soon  made  him  well  known.  He  also  gained  much 
reputation  as  a  public  lecturer.  In  1860  he  left  the  East  to  take  charge 
of  the  Unitarian  church  in  San  Francisco.  During  the  remaining  years 
of  his  life,  he  exercised  much  influence  in  the  public  affairs  of  California. 
He  died  suddenly,  of  diphtheria,  in  the  midst  of  his  brilliant  career. 

Mr.  King  was  a  gieat  lover  of  nature.  His  "  White  Hills,"  describing 
the  mountain  scenery  of  New  Hanipshii'e,  is  the  most  complete  book 
ever  written  concerning  that  interesting  region. 

The  Yosemite  valley,  in  California,  is  a  pass  about  ten 
miles  long.  At  its  eastern  extremity  it  leads  into  three 
narrower  passes,  each  of  which  extends  several  miles,  wind- 
ing by  the  wildest  paths  into  the  heart  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada  chain  of  mountains.  For  seven  miles  of  the  main 
valley,  which  varies  in  width  from  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
to  a  mile  and  a  half,  the  walls  on  either  side  are  from  two 
thousand  to  nearly  five  thousand  feet  above  the  road,  and 
are  nearly  perpendicular.  From  these  walls,  rocky  splin- 
ters a  thousand  feet  in  height  start  up,  and  every  winter 
drop  a  few  hundred  tons  of  granite,  to  adorn  the  base  of 
the  rampart  with  picturesque  ruin. 

The  valley  is  of  such  irregular  width,  and  bends  so  much 
and  often  so  abruptly,  that  there  is  a  great  variety  and 
frequent  surprise  in  the  forms  and  com])inations  of  the 
overhanging  rocks  as  one  rides  along  the  bank  of  the 
stream.  The  patches  of  luxuriant  meadow,  with  their  daz- 
zling green,  and  the  grouping  of  the  superb  firs,  two  hun- 
dred feet  high,  that  skirt  them,  and  that  shoot  above  the 
stout  and  graceful  oaks  and  sycamores  through  which   the 


SIXTH  READER.  427 

horse-path  winds,  are  delightful  rests  of  sweetness  and 
beauty  amid  the  threatening  awfulness. 

The  Merced,  which  flows  through  the  same  pass,  is  a 
noble  stream,  a  hundred  feet  wide  and  ten  feet  deep.  It 
is  formed  chiefly  of  the  streams  that  leap  and  rush  through 
the  narrower  passes,  and  it  is  swollen,  also,  by  the  bounty 
of  the  marvelous  water-falls  that  pour  down  from  the 
ramparts  of  the  wider  valley.  The  sublime  poetry  of 
Habakkuk  is  needed  to  describe  the  impression,  and,  per- 
haps, the  geology,  of  these  mighty  fissures:  "Thou  didst 
cleave  the  earth  with  rivers." 

At  the  foot  of  the  break-neck  declivity  of  nearly  three 
thousand  feet  by  Avhich  we  reach  the  banks  of  the  Merced, 
we  are  six  miles  from  the  hotel,  and  every  rod  of  the  ride 
awakens  wonder,  awe,  and  a  solemn  joy.  As  we  approach 
the  hotel,  and  turn  toward  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river, 
what  is  that 

"Which  ever  sounds  and  shines, 
A  pillar  of  white  light  upon  the  wall, 
Of  purple  cliflfs  aloof  descried  ?  " 

That,  reader,  is  the  highest  water-fall  in  the  world — the 
Yosemite  cataract,  nearly  twenty-five  hundred  feet  in  its 
plunge,  dashing  from  a  break  or  depression  in  a  cliff"  thirty- 
two  hundred  feet  sheer. 

A  writer  who  visited  this  valley  in  September,  calls  the 
cataract  a  mere  tape-line  of  w'ater  dropped  from  the  sky. 
Perhaps  it  is  so,  tow^ard  the  close  of  the  dry  season ;  but  as 
we  saw  it,  the  blended  majesty  and  beauty  of  it,  apart 
from  the  general  sublimities  of  Yosemite  gorge,  would  re- 
pay a  journey  of  a  thousand  miles.  There  was  no  de- 
ficiency of  water.  It  was  a  powerful  stream,  thirty -five 
feet  broad,  fresh  from  the  Nevada,  that  made  the  plunge 
from  the  brow  of  the  awful  precipice. 

At  the  first  leap  it  clears  fourteen  hundred  and  ninety- 
seven  feet;    then  it  tumbles  down  a  series  of  steep  stair- 


428  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

ways  four  hundred  and  two  feet,  and  then  makes  a  jump 
to  the  meadows  five  hundred  and  eighteen  feet  more.  But 
it  is  the  upper  and  highest  cataract  that  is  most  wonderful 
to  the  eye,  as  well  as  most  musical.  The  cliff  is  so  sheer 
that  there  is  no  break  in  the  body  of  the  water  during  the 
whole  of  its  descent  of  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  It 
pours  in  a  curve  from  the  summit,  fifteen  hundred  feet,  to 
the  basin  that  hoards  it  but  a  moment  for  the  cascades 
that  follow. 

And  what  endless  complexities  and  opulence  of  beauty  in 
the  forms  and  motions  of  the  cataract !  It  is  comparatively 
narrow  at  the  top  of  the  precipice,  although,  as  we  said, 
the  tide  that  pours  over  is  thirty-five  feet  broad.  But  it 
widens  as  it  descends,  and  curves  a  little  on  one  side  as  it 
widens,  so  that  it  shapes  itself,  before  it  reaches  its  first 
bowl  of  granite,  into  the  figure  of  a  comet.  More  beauti- 
ful than  the  comet,  however,  we  can  see  the  substance  of 
this  watery  loveliness  ever  renew  itself  and  ever  pour  itself 
away. 

"  It  mounts  in  spray  the  skies,  and  thence  again 
Returns  in  an  unceasing  sliower,  wliich  round 

Witli  its  uuemptied  cloud  of  gentle  rain, 
Is  an  eternal  April  to  the  ground, 
Making  it  all  one  emerald ;  — how  profound 

The  gulf!  and  how  the  giant  element 
From  rock  to  rock  leaps  with  delirious  bound, 

Crushing  the  clilTs." 

The  cataract  seems  to  shoot  out  a  thousand  serpentine 
heads  or  knots  of  water,  which  wriggle  down  deliberately 
through  the  air  and  expend  themselves  in  mist  before  half 
the  descent  is  over.  Then  a  new  set  burst  from  the  body 
and  sides  of  the  fall,  Avith  the  same  fortune  on  the  remain- 
ing distance;  and  thus  the  most  charming  fretwork  of 
watery  nodules,  each  trailing  its  vapory  train  for  a  hundred 
feet  or  more,  is  woven  all  over  the  cascade,  which  swings, 
now  and  then,  thirty  feet  each  way,  on  the  mountain  side, 


SIXTH  READER.  429 

as  if  it  were  a  pendulum  of  watery  lace.  Once  in  a  while, 
too,  the  wind  manages  to  get  back  of  the  fall,  between  it 
and  the  cliff,  and  then  it  will  whirl  it  round  and  round  for 
two  or  three  hundred  feet,  as  if  to  try  the  experiment  of 
twisting  it  to  Avring  it  dry. 

Of  course  I  visited  the  foot  of  the  lowest  fall  of  the 
Yosemite,  and  looked  up  through  the  spray,  five  hundred 
feet,  to  its  crown.  And  I  tried  to  climb  to  the  base  of  the 
first  or  highest  cataract,  but  lost  my  way  among  the  steep, 
sharp  rocks,  for  there  is  only  one  line  by  which  the  cliff 
can  be  scaled.  But  no  nearer  view  that  I  found  or  heard 
described,  is  comparable  with  the  picture,  from  the  hotel, 
of  the  comet-curve  of  the  upper  cataract,  fifteen  hundred 
feet  high,  and  the  two  falls  immediately  beneath  it,  in 
which  the  same  water  leaps  to  the  level  of  the  quiet 
Merced. 


CXXV.    A   PSALM   OF    LIFE. 

Tell  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 
Life  is  but  an  empty  dream ! 

For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers. 
And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

Life  is  real !     Life  is  earnest ! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal; 
Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest, 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 


Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow. 
Is  our  destined  end  or  way ; 

But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 
Find  us  farther  than  to-day. 


430  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


Art  is  long,  and  Time  is  fleeting, 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 

Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  ffrave. 


In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 

In  the  bivouac  of  Life, 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle! 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife! 


Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead! 
Act — act  in  the  living  Present! 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead. 


Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime. 

And,  departing^  leave  behind  us 
Foot-prints  on  the  sands  of  time ;  — 


Foot-prints,  that  perhaps  another, 
Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 

A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 


Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing. 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate; 

Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait. 


— Longfellow. 


SIXTH  READEB.  431 


CXXVI.    FRANKLIN'S    ENTRY   INTO   PHILADELPHIA. 


Benjamin  Franklin,  1706-1790,  was  born  in  Boston.  He  received  little 
schooling,  but  being  apprenticed  to  his  brother,  a  printer,  he  acquired  a 
taste  for  reading  and  study.  In  1723,  he  went  to  Philadelphia,  where  he 
followed  his  chosen  calling,  and  in  time  became  the  publisher  of  the 
" Pennsylvania  Gazette "  and  the  celebrated  "Poor  Richard's  Almanac." 

As  a  philosopher  Franklin  was  rendered  famous  by  his  discovery  of 
the  identity  of  lightning  with  electricity.  His  career  in  public  affairs 
may  be  briefly  sununarized  as  follows:  In  1736  he  was  made  Clerk  of 
the  Provincial  Assembly;  in  1737,  deputy  -  postmaster  at  Philadelphia; 
and  in  1753,  Postmaster -general  for  British  America.  He  was  twice  in 
England  as  the  agent  of  certain  colonies.  After  signing  the  Declaration 
of  Independence,  he  was  sent  as  Minister  Plenipotentiary  to  France  in 
1776.  On  his  return,  in  1785,  he  was  made  "  President  of  the  Common- 
wealth of  Pennsylvania,"  holding  the  office  three  years.  He  was  also 
one  of  the  framers  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States. 

As  a  writer  Franklin  commenced  his  career  when  only  twelve  years  old 
by  composing  two  ballads,  which,  however,  he  condemned  as  "  wretched 
stuff."  Franklin's  letters  and  papers  on  electricity,  afterwards  enlarged 
by  essays  on  various  philosophical  subjects,  have  been  translated  into 
Latin,  French,  Italian,  and  German.  The  most  noted  of  his  works,  and 
the  one  from  which  the  following  extract  is  taken,  is  his  "Autobiogra- 
phy." This  book  is  "one  of  the  half-dozen  most  widely  popular  books 
ever  printed,"  and  has  been  published  in  nearly  every  written  language. 
Franklin  founded  the  American  Philosophical  Society,  and  established 
an  institution  which  has  since  grown  into  the  University  of  Pennsyl- 
vania. His  life  is  a  noble  example  of  the  results  of  industry  and  perse- 
verance, and  his  death  was  the  occasion  ^f  public  mourning. 


Walking  in  the  evening  by  the  side  of  the  river,  a  boat 
came  by,  which  I  found  was  going  towards  Philadelphia, 
with  several  people  in  her.  They  took  me  in,  and,  as 
there  was  no  wind,  we  rowed  all  the  way;  and  about  mid- 
night, not  having  yet  seen  the  city,  some  of  the  company 
were  confident  we  must  have  passed  it,  and  would  row  no 
farther;  the  others  knew  not  where  we  were;  so  we  put 
toward  the  shore,  got  into  a  creek,  landed  near  an  old 
fence,  with  the  rails  of  which  we  made  a  fire,  the  night 
being  cold,  in  October,  and  there  we  remained  till  daylight. 

Then  one  of  the  company  knew  the  place  to  be  Cooper's 
Creek,  a  little  above  Philadelphia,  which  we  saw  as  soon 
as  we  got  out  of  the  creek,  and  arrived  there  about  eight 


432  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

or  nine  o'clock  on  the  Sunday  morning,  and  landed  at  the 
Market  Street  wharf. 

I  have  been  the  more  particular  in  this  description  of 
my  journey,  and  shall  be  so  of  my  first  entry  into  that 
city,  that  you  may  in  your  mind  comj^are  such  unlikely 
beginnings  with  the  figure  I  have  since  made  there. 

I  was  in  my  working  dress,  my  best  clothes  being  to 
come  round  by  sea.  I  was  dirty  from  my  journey ;  my 
pockets  were  stuffed  out  with  shirts  and  stockings,  and  I 
knew  no  soul  nor  where  to  look  for  lodging.  I  was  fa- 
tigued with  traveling,  rowing,  and  want  of  rest;  I  was 
very  hungry ;  and  my  whole  stock  of  cash  consisted  of  a 
Dutch  dollar,  and  about  a  shilling  in  copper.  The  latter 
I  gave  the  people  of  the  boat  for  my  passage,  who  at  first 
refused  it  on  account  of  my  rowing;  but  I  insisted  on  their 
taking  it, — a  man  being  sometimes  more  generous  when 
he  has  but  a  little  money  than  when  he  has  plenty,  per- 
haps through  fear  of  being  thought  to  have  but  little. 

Then  I  walked  up  the  street  gazing  about,  till,  near  the 
market -house,  I  met  a  boy  with  bread.  I  had  made  many 
a  meal  on  bread,  and,  inquiring  where  he  got  it,  I  went 
immediately  to  the  baker's  he  directed  me  to,  in  Second 
Street,  and  asked  for  biscuit,  intending  such  as  we  had  in 
Boston:  but  they,  it  seems,  were  not  made  in  Philadelphia. 
Then  I  asked  for  a  three -penny  loaf,  and  was  told  they 
had  none  such.  So  not  considering  or  knowing  the  differ- 
ence of  money,  and  the  greater  cheapness  nor  the  names 
of  his  bread,  I  bade  him  give  me  three -penny  worth  of 
any  sort.  He  gave  me,  accordingly,  three  great  pufiy  rolls. 
I  was  surprised  at  the  quantity,  but  took  it,  and,  having 
no  room  in  my  pockets,  walked  off  with  a  roll  under  each 
arm,  and  eating  the  other. 

Thus  I  went  up  Market  Street  as  far  as  Fourth  Street, 
passing  by  the  door  of  Mr.  Read,  my  future  wife's  father: 
when  she,  standing  at  the  door,  saw  me,  and  thought  I 
made,  as  I  certainly  did,  a  most  awkward,  ridiculous  ap- 


SIXTH  READER.  433 

pearance.  Then  I  turned  and  went  down  Chestnut  Street 
and  part  of  Wahiut  Street,  eating  my  roll  all  the  way,  and, 
coming  round,  found  myself  again  at  JNIarket  Street  wharf, 
near  the  boat  I  came  in,  to  which  I  went  for  a  draught 
of  the  river  Avater;  and,  being  filled  with  one  of  my  rolls, 
gave  the  other  two  to  a  woman  and  her  child  that  came 
down  the  river  in  the  boat  with  us,  and  were  waiting  to 
go  farther. 

Thus  refreshed,  I  walked  again  up  the  street,  which  })y 
this  time  had  many  clean -dressed  people  in  it,  avIio  were 
all  walking  the  same  way.  I  joined  them,  and  thereby 
was  led  into  the  great  meeting-house  of  the  Quakers,  near 
the  market.  I  sat  down  among  them,  and,  after  looking 
round  awhile  and  hearing  nothing  said,  being  very  drowsy 
through  labor  and  want  of  rest  the  jsreceding  night,  I  fell 
fast  asleep,  and  continued  so  till  the  meeting  broke  up, 
when  one  was  kind  enough  to  rouse  me.  This  was,  there- 
fore, the  first  hoifte  I  was  in,  or  slept  in,  in  Philadelphia. 

Walking  down  again  toward  the  river,  and  looking  in 
the  faces  of  people,  I  met  a  young  Quaker  man,  whose 
countenance  I  liked,  and,  accosting  him,  requested  he  would 
tell  me  where  a  stranger  could  get  lodging.  We  were  then 
near  the  sign  of  the  Three  Mariners.  "Here,"  says  he, 
"is  one  place  that  entertains  strangers,  but  it  is  not  a 
reputable  house;  if  thee  wilt  walk  with  me,  I'll  show  thee 
a  better."  He  brought  me  to  the  Crooked  Billet,  in  Wa- 
ter Street.  Here  I  got  a  dinner;  and,  while  I  was  eating 
it,  several  sly  questions  Avere  asked  me,  as  it  seemed  to  be 
suspected  from  my  youth  and  appearance  that  I  might  be 
some  runaway.  After  dinner  my  sleepiness  returned,  and, 
being  shown  to  a  bed,  I  lay  down  without  undressing,  and 
slept  till  six  in  the  evening;  was  called  to  supper,  went  to 
bed  again  very  early,  and  slept  soundly  till  next  morning. 

Note. -—The  river  referred  to  is  the  Delaware.     Franklin  was  on 

his  way  from   Boston   to  Philadelphia,  and  had  just  walked   from 

Amboy  to  Turlington,  New  Jersey,  a  distance  of  fifty  miles. 
6.-37. 


434  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


CXXVII.    LINES   TO   A  WATER-FOWL. 

Whither  'midst  falling  dew, 
While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 

Thy  solitary  way? 


Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 
Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong. 
As,  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky. 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 


Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide. 
Or  where  the  rocky  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean  side? 


There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast. 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air. 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 


All  day,  thy  wings  have  fanned. 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere, 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land. 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 


And  soon  that  toil  shall  end, 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest. 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows;  reeds  shall  bend, 

Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 


SIXTH  READER.  435 

Thou  'rt  gone ;  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form ;  yet,  on  my  heart, 
Deeply  has  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  dejmrt. 

He,  who,  from  zone  to  zone. 
Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 

— Bryant. 


CXXVIII.    GOLDSMITH  AND  ADDISON. 

■William  Makepeace  Thackeray,  1811-1863,  was  born  in  Calcutta,  and 
is  one  of  the  most  popular  of  English  novelists,  essayists,  and  humorists. 
While  a  boy,  he  removed  from  India  to  England,  where  he  was  educated 
at  the  Charterhouse  in  London,  and  at  Cambridge.  AVhen  twenty-one 
years  of  age,  he  came  into  possession  of  about  £20,000.  He  rapidly  dissi- 
pated his  fortune,  however,  and  was  comiaelled  to  work  for  his  living,  first 
turning  his  attention  to  law  and  then  to  art,  but  finally  choosing  litera- 
ture as  his  profession.  He  was  for  many  years  correspondent,  under 
assumed  names,  of  tlie  "London  Times,"  "The  New  Monthly  Magazine," 
"  Punch,"  and  "  Eraser's  Magazine."  His  first  novel  under  his  own 
name,  "  Vanity  Fair,"  appeared  in  monthly  numbers  during  1840-8,  and 
is  generally  considered  his  finest  production :  although  "  Pendennis," 
"Henry  Esmond,"  and  "The  Newcomes  "  are  also  much  admired.  His 
lectures  on  "  English  Humorists  of  the  Eighteenth  Century,"  from  which 
the  following  selections  are  taken,  were  delivered  in  England  first  in  18.51, 
and  afterwards  in  America,  which  he  visited  in  1852  and  again  in  1855-6. 
During  the  latter  visit,  he  first  delivered  his  course  of  lectures  on  "  The 
Four  Georges,"  which  were  later  repeated  in  England.  At  the  close  of 
1859,  Thackeray  became  editor  of  the  "  Cornhill  Magazine,"  and  made  it 
one  of  the  most  successful  serials  ever  published. 

Thackeray  has  been  charged  with  cynicism  in  his  writings,  but  he  was 
noted  for  his  happy  temper  and  genial  disposition  towards  all  who  came 
in  contact  with  him. 

I.    Goldsmith. 

To  be  the  most  beloved  of  English  writers,  what  a  title 
that  is  for  a  man !  A  wild  youth,  wayward,  but  full  of 
tenderness  and  affection,  quits  the  country  village  where 
his   boyhood   has  been    passed    in    happy   musing,   in    idle 


436  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

shelter,  in  fond  longing  to  see  the  gi-eat  world  out  of  doors, 
and  achieve  name  and  fortune — and  after  years  of  dire 
struggle,  and  neglect,  and  poverty,  his  heart  turning  back 
as  fondly  to  his  native  place  as  it  had  longed  eagerly  for 
chahge  when  sheltered  there,  he  writes  a  book  and  a  poem, 
full  of  the  recollections  and  feelings  of  home;  he  paints  the 
friends  and  scenes  of  his  youth,  and  peoples  Auburn  and 
Wakefield  with  the  remembrances  of  Lissoy. 

Wander  he  must,  but  he  carries  away  a  home-relic  with 
him,  and  dies  with  it  on  his  breast.  His  nature  is  truant ; 
in  repose  it  longs  for  change :  as  on  the  journey  it  looks 
back  for  friends  and  quiet.  He  passes  to-day  in  building 
an  air-castle  for  to-morrow,  or  in  writing  yesterday's  elegy; 
and  he  would  fly  away  this  hour,  but  that  a  cage,  necessity, 
keeps  him.  What  is  the  charm  of  his  verse,  of  his  style, 
and  humor?  His  sweet  regrets,  his  delicate  compassion,  his 
soft  smile,  his  tremulous  sympathy,  the  weakness  which 
he  owns? 

Your  love  for  him  is  half  pity.  You  come  hot  and  tired 
from  the  day's  battle,  and  this  sweet  minstrel  sings  to  you. 
Who  could  harm  the  kind  vagrant  harper?  Whom  did  he 
ever  hurt?  He  carries  no  weapon,  save  the  harp  on  which 
he  plays  to  you,  and  with  wliich  he  delights  great  and  luim- 
ble,  young  and  old,  the  caj^tains  in  the  tents,  or  the  soldiers 
round  the  fire,  or  the  women  and  children  in  the  villages,  at 
whose  porches  he  stops  and  sings  his  simple  songs  of  love 
and  beauty.  With  that  SAveet  story  of  "The  Vicar  of 
Wakefield "  he  has  found  entry  into  every  castle  and  every 
hamlet  in  Europe.  Not  one  of  us,  however  busy  or  hard, 
but  once  or  twice  in  our  lives  has  passed  an  evening  with 
him,  and  undergone  the  charm  of  his  delightful  music. 

n.    Addison. 

We  love   him   for  his   vanities   as   much    as   his  virtues. 
What  is  ridiculous  is  delightful  in  him  ;    we  are  so  fond  of 


SIXTH  READER.  437 

him  because  we  laugli  at  him  so.  And  out  of  that  laughter, 
aud  out  of  that  sweet  weakuess,  and  out  of  those  harmless 
eccentricities  aud  follies,  aud  out  of  that  touched  brain,  and 
out  of  that  honest  manhood  and  simplicity  —  we  get  a  result 
of  happiness,  goodness,  tenderness,  pity,  piety;  such  as  doctors 
aud  divines  but  seldom  have  the  fortune  to  inspire.  And 
why  not  ?  Is  the  glory  of  Heaven  to  be  sung  only  by  gen- 
tlemen in  black  coats? 

When  this  man  looks  from  the  world,  Avhose  weaknesses 
he  describes  so  benevolently,  \\\)  to  the  Heaven  which  shines 
over  us  all,  I  can  hardly  fancy  a  human  face  lighted  up 
with  a  more  serene  rapture ;  a  human  intellect  thrilling  with 
a  purer  love  and  adoration  than  Joseph  Addison's.  Listen 
to  him :  from  your  childhood  you  have  known  the  verses ; 
but  who  can  hear  their  sacred  music  without  love  and  awe? 


'  Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  \\p  tlie  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth  ; 
And  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn. 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn, 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll, 
And  sjiread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

'  What  though,  in  solemn  silence,  all 
Move  round  this  dark  terrestrial  ball; 
What  though  no  real  voice  nor  sound 
Among  their  radiant  orbs  be  found ;       , 
In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice, 
Forever  singing,  as  they  shine. 
The  Hand  that  made  us  is  divine." 


It  seems  to  me  those  verses  shine  like  the  stars.  They 
shine  out  of  a  great,  deep  calm.  When  he  turns  to  Heaven, 
a  Sabbath  comes  over  that  man's  mind ;  and  his  face  lights 
up  from  it  with  a  glory  of  thanks  and  prayers.  His  sense 
of  religion  stirs  through  his  whole  being.  In  the  fields,  in 
the  town  ;  looking  at  the  birds  in  the  trees ;  at  the  children 
in  the  streets;    in  the  morning  or  in   the   moonlight;    over 


438  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

his  books  in  his  own  room;  in  a  happy  party  at  a  country 
merry-making  or  a  town  assembly,  good-will  and  peace  to 
God's  creatures,  and  love  and  awe  of  Him  who  made  them, 
fill  his  pure  heart  and  shine  from  his  kind  face.  If  Swift's 
life  was  the  most  wretched,  I  think  Addison's  was  one  of  the 
most  enviable,  A  life  prosperous  and  beautiful — a  calm 
death — an  immense  fame  and  aflection  afterwards  for  his 
happy  and  spotless  name. 

Notes. —  Goldsmith  (see  biographical  notice,  page  215) 
founded  his  descriptions  of  Auburn  in  the  poem  of  "The 
Deserted  Village,"  and  of  "Wakefield,  in  "The  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,"  on  recollections  of  his  early  home  at  Lissoy, 
Ireland. 

Addison.  See  biographical  notice,  page  295.  The  quota- 
tion is  from  a  "Letter  from  Italy  to  Charles  Lord  Halifax." 

Swift,  .Jonathan  (b.  1G67,  d.  1745),  the  celebrated  Irish 
satirist  and  poet,  was  a  misanthrope.  His  disposition  made 
his  life  miserable  in  the  extreme,  and  he  finally  became 
insane. 


CXXIX.    IMMORTALITY  OP    THE   SOUL. 

Scene — Cato,  alone,  sitting  in  a  thoughtful  posture; — in  his 
hand,  Plato's  book  on  tJie  immoHality  of  tJie  soul;  a  drawn 
sword  on  the  table  by  him. 

Cato.    It  must  be  so.     Plato,  thou  reasonest  well! 

Else  whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire. 

This  longing  after  immortality? 

Or  whence  this  secret  dread,  and  inward  horror, 

Of  falling  into  naught  ?     Why  shrinks  the  soul 

Back  on  herself,  and  startles  at  destruction? 

'Tis  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us; 

'Tis  heaven  itself  that  points  out  an  hereafter, 

And  intimates  eternity  to  man. 


i 


SIXTH  READER.  439 

Eternity!  thou  pleasing,  dreadful  thought! 

Through  what  variety  of  untried  being, 

Through  what  new  scenes  and  changes  must  we  pass? 

The  wide,  unbounded  prospect  lies  before  me: 

But  shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness  rest  upon  it. 

Here  will  I  hold.     If  there's  a  Power  above  us, 

(And  that  there  is,  all  Nature  cries  aloud 

Through  all  her  works)  he  must  delight  in  virtue ; 

And  that  which  he  delights  in  must  be  happy. 

But    when?  —  or    where?  —  This    world    was    made    for 

Caesar. 
I'm  weary  of  conjectures  —  this  must  end  them. 

(Seizes  the  sword.) 
Thus  am  I  doubly  armed :  my  death  and  life, 
My  bane  and  antidote  are  both  before  me. 
This  in  a  moment  brings  me  to  an  end ; 
But  this  informs  me  I  shall  never  die. 
The  soul,  secured  in  her  existence,  smiles 
At  the  drawn  dagger  and  defies  its  point. 
The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  Nature  sink  in  years; 
But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth. 
Unhurt  amidst  the  war  of  elements, 
The  wrecks  of  matter,  and  the  crush  of  worlds. 

— Addiso7i. 


Notes. — The  above  selection  is  Gate's  soliloquy  just  before 
committing  suicide.     It  is  from  the  tragedy  of  "Cato." 

Cato,  Marcus  Porcius,  (b.  95,  d.  46  B.  C.)  was  a  Eoman  gen- 
eral, statesman,  and  philosopher.  He  was  exceptionally  honest 
and  conscientious,  and  strongly  opposed  Csesar  and  Pompey  in 
their  attempts  to  seize  the  state.  When  Utica,  the  last  African 
city  to  resist  Csesar,  finally  yielded,  Cato  committed  suicide. 

Plato  (b.  429,  d.  about  348  B.C.)  was  a  celebrated  Greek 
philosopher.  His  writings  are  all  in  the  form  of  dialogues, 
and  have  been  preserved  in  a  wonderfully  perfect  state. 


440  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


CXXX.    CHARACTER    OP   WASHINGTON. 


Jared  Sparks,  1789-1866,  was  bortt  at  Willington,  Connecticut,  and 
graduated  at  Harvard  in  1815.  He  was  tutor  in  the  University  for  two 
years,  and  in  1819  was  ordained  pastor  of  the  Unitarian  Church  in  Balti- 
more. In  1823  he  returned  to  Boston,  purcliased  the  "Nortli  American 
Review,"  and  was  its  sole  editor  for  seven  years.  From  1839  to  1849  he 
was  Professor  in  Harvard,  and  for  tlie  n^xt  three  years  was  President  of 
tlie  University.  Mr.  Sparks  has  written  extensively  on  American 
history  and  biography,  including  the  lives  of  Washington  and  Frank- 
lin. He  collected  the  materials  for  his  biographies  with  great,  care,  and 
wrought  them  up  with  mucli  skill. 


The  person  of  Washington  was  commanding,  graceful, 
and  fitly  proportioned ;  his  stature  six  feet,  his  chest  broad 
and  full,  his  limbs  long  and  somewhat  slender,  but  well 
shaped  and  muscular.  His  features  were  regular  and  sym- 
metrical, his  eyes  of  a  light  blue  color,  and  his  whole 
countenance,  in  its  quiet  state,  was  grave,  placid,  and  be- 
nignant. When  alone,  or  not  engaged  in  conversation,  he 
appeared  sedate  and  thoughtful;  but  when  his  attention 
was  excited,  his  eye  kindled  quickly,  and  his  face  beamed 
with  animation  and  intelligence. 

He  was  not  fluent  in  speech,  but  what  he  said  was  appo- 
site, and  listened  to  with  the  more  interest  as  being  known 
to  come  from  the  heart.  'He  seldom  attempted  sallies  of 
wit  or  humor,  but  no  man  received  more  pleasure  from  an 
exhibition  of  them  by  others;  and,  although  contented  in 
seclusion,  he  sought  his  chief  happiness  in  society,  and 
participated  with  delight  in  all  its  rational  and  innocent 
amusements.  Without  austerity  on  the  one  hand,  or  an 
appearance  of  condescending  familiarity  on  the  other,  he 
was  affable,  courteous,  and  cheerful;  but  it  has  often  been 
remarked  that  there  was  a  dignity  in  his  person  and  man- 
ner not  easy  to  be  defined,  which  impressed  every  one  that 
saw  him  for  the  first  time  with  an  instinctive  deference 
and  awe.     This  may   have  arisen,  in   part,  from  a  con  vie- 


SIXTH  READER.  441 

tion  of  liis  superiority,  as  well  as  from  the  effect  produced 
by  his  external  form  and  dcportiucMit. 

The  character  of  his  mind  was  unfolded  in  the  public 
and  private  acts  of  his  life ;  and  the  proofs  of  his  greatness 
are  seen  almost  as  much  in  the  one  as  the  other.  The 
same  qualities  which  raised  him  to  the  ascendency  he  pos- 
sessed over  the  will  of  a  nation,  as  the  commander  of 
armies  and  chief  magistrate,  caused  him  to  be  loved  and 
respected  as  an  individual.  Wisdom,  judgment,  prudence, 
and  firmness  were  his  predominant  traits.  No  man  ever 
saw  more  clearly  the  relative  importance  of  things  and 
actions,  or  divested  himself  more  entirely  of  the  bias  of 
personal  interest,  partiality,  and  prejudice,  in  discriminat- 
ing between  the  true  and  the  false,  the  right  and  the 
wrong,  in  all  questions  and  subjects  that  w^ere  presented  to 
him.  He  deliberated  slowly,  but  decided  surely ;  and  when 
his  decision  was  once  formed  he  seldom  reversed  it,  and 
never  relaxed  from  the  execution  of  a  measure  till  it  was 
completed.  Courage,  physical  and  moral,  was  a  part  of 
his  nature ;  and,  whether  in  battle,  or  in  the  midst  of 
jiopular  excitement,  he  was  fearless  of  danger,  and  regard- 
less of  consequences  to  himself. 

His  ambition  was  of  that  noble  kind  which  aims  to  excel 
in  whatever  it  undertakes,  and  to  acquire  a  power  over  the 
hearts  of  men  by  promoting  their  happiness  and  winning 
their  affections.  Sensitive  to  the  approbation  of  others, 
and  solicitous  to  deserve  it,  he  made  no  concessions  to  gain 
their  applause,  either  by  flattering  their  vanity  or  yielding 
to  their  caprices.  Cautious  without  timidity,  bold  without 
rashness,  cool  in  counsel,  deliberate  but  firm  in  action, 
clear  in  foresight,  j^atient  under  reverses,  steady,  persever- 
ing, and  self-possessed,  he  met  and  conquered  every  ob- 
stacle that  obstructed  his  path  to  honor,  renown  and 
success.  ]\Iore  confident  in  the  uprightness  of  his  intention 
than  in  his  resources,  he  sought  knowledge  and  advice 
from  other  men.     He  chose  his  counselors  w'ith  unerring 


442  ECLECTIC  SEBIES. 

sagacity;  and  his  quick  perception  of  the  soundness  of  an 
opinion,  and  of  the  strong  points  in  an  argument,  enabled 
him  to  draw  to  his  aid  the  best  fruits  of  their  talents,  and 
the  light  of  their  collected  wisdom. 

His  moral  qualities  were  in  perfect  harmony  with  those 
of  his  intellect.  Duty  was  the  ruling  principle  of  his  con- 
duct; and  the  rare  endowments  of  his  understanding  were 
not  more  constantly  tasked  to  devise  the  best  methods  of 
effecting  an  object,  than  they  were  to  guard  the  sanctity  of 
conscience.  No  instance  can  be  adduced  in  which  he  was 
actuated  by  a  sinister  motive  or  endeavored  to  attain  an 
end  by  unworthy  means.  Truth,  integrity,  and  justice 
were  deeply  rooted  in  his  mind ;  and  nothing  could  rouse 
his  indignation  so  soon,  or  so  utterly  destroy  his  confidence, 
as  the  discovery  of  the  Avant  of  these  virtues  in  any  one 
whom  he  had  trusted.  Weaknesses,  follies,  indiscretions 
he  could  forgive;  but  subterfuge  and  dishonesty  he  never 
forgot,  rarely  pardoned. 

He  was  candid  and  sincere,  true  to  his  friends,  and 
faithful  to  all;  neither  practicing  dissimulation,  descending 
to  artifice,  nor  holding  out  expectations  which  he  did  not 
intend  should  be  realized.  His  passions  were  strong,  and 
sometimes  they  broke  out  with  vehemence:  but  he  had  the 
power  of  checking  them  in  an  instant.  Perhaps  self- 
control  was  the  most  remarkable  trait  of  his  character.  It 
was,  in  part,  the  effect  of  discipline;  yet  he  seems  by 
nature  to  have  possessed  this  power  in  a  degree  which  has 
been  denied  to  other  men. 

A  Christian  in  faith  and  practice,  he  was  habitually 
devout.  His  reverence  for  religion  is  seen  in  his  example, 
his  public  communications,  and  his  private  writings.  He 
uniformly  ascribed  his  successes  to  the  beneficent  agency 
of  the  Supreme  Being.  Charitable  and  humane,  he  was 
liberal  to  the  poor,  and  kind  to  those  in  distress.  As  a 
husband,  son,  and  brother,  he  was  tender  and  affectionate. 
Without   vanity,  ostentation,  or  pride,  he  never  spoke  of 


SIXTH  READER.  443 

himself  or  his  actions  unless  required  by  circumstancea 
which  concerned  the  public  interests. 

As  he  was  free  from  envy,  so  he  had  the  good  fortune 
to  escape  the  envy  of  others  by  standing  on  an  elevation 
which  none  could  hope  to  attain.  If  lie  had  one  passion 
more  strong  than  another  it  was  love  of  his  country. 
The  purity  and  ardor  of  his  patriotism  wei-e  commensurate 
with  the  greatness  of  its  object.  Love  of  country  in  him 
was  invested  with  the  sacred  obligation  of  a  duty;  and 
from  the  faithful  discharge  of  this  duty  he  never  swerved 
for  a  moment,  either  in  thought  or  deed,  through  the 
whole  period  of  his  eventful  career. 

Such  are  some  of  the  traits  in  the  character  of  Wash- 
ington, which  have  acquired  for  him  the  love  and  vener- 
ation of  mankind.  If  they  are  not  marked  with  the 
brilliancy,  extravagance,  and  eccentricity,  which,  in  other 
men,  have  excited  the  astonishment  of  the  world,  so 
neither  are  they  tarnished  by  the  follies,  nor  disgraced  by 
the  crimes  of  those  men.  It  is  the  happy  combination  of 
rare  talents  and  qualities,  the  harmonious  union  of  the  in- 
tellectual and  moral  powers,  rather  than  the  dazzling 
splendor  of  any  one  trait,  which  constitute  the  grandeur  of 
his  character.  If  the  title  of  great  man  ought  to  be  re- 
served for  him  who  can  not  be  charged  Avith  an  indis- 
cretion or  a  vice ;  who  spent  his  life  in  establishing  the  in- 
dependence, the  glory,  and  durable  prosperity  of  his 
country;  Avho  succeeded  in  all  that  he  undertook;  and 
whose  successes  were  never  won  at  the  expense  of  honor, 
justice,  integrity,  or  by  the  sacrifice  of  a  single  principle, — 
this  title  wiU  not  be  denied  to  Washington. 


How  sweetly  on  the  ear  such  echoes  sound ! 
While  the  mere  victors  may  appall  or  stun 
The  servile  and  the  vain,  such  names  will  be 
A  watch-word  till  the  Future  shall  be  free. 

—Byron, 


444  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


CXXXI.    EULOGY   ON   WASHINGTON. 


General  Henry  Lee,  1756-lSlK,  a  member  of  the  celebrated  Lee 
family  of  Virginia,  was  born  in  Westmoreland  County  in  tliat  state,  and 
died  on  Cumberland  Island,  Georgia.  He  graduated  at  Princeton  in  his 
eighteenth  year.  In  1777  he  marched  with  a  regiment  of  cavalry  to  join 
the  patriot  army,  and  served  with  fldelity  and  success  till  the  close  of  the 
war.  He  was  noted  for  his  bravery,  skill,  and  celerity,  and  received  tlie 
nickname  of  "  Light-horse  Harry."  He  was  a  great  favorite  with  both 
General  Greene  and  General  Washington.  In  1786  Virginia  appointed 
him  one  of  her  delegates  to  Congress ;  he  also  took  an  active  part  in 
favor  of  the  adoption  of  the  constitution  in  the  Virginia  Convention  of 
1788.  On  the  breaking  out  of  the  "  Whisky  Rebellion  "  in  Pennsylvania, 
in  17fM,  the  President  sent  General  Lee  with  an  army  to  suppress  the  dis- 
turbance. The  insurgents  submitted  without  resistance.  In  1799  he  was 
again  a  member  of  Congress;  and,  on  the  death  of  Washington,  that 
body  appointed  him  to  pronounce  a  eulogy  upon  the  life  and  character 
of  the  great  and  good  man.  The  following  extract  contains  the  closing 
part  of  the  oration. 


Who  is  there  that  has  forgotten  the  vales  of  Brandy- 
wine,  the  fields  of  Germantown,  or  the  plains  of  Mon- 
month?  Every- where  present,  wants  of  every  kind  ob- 
structing, numerous  and  valiant  armies  encountering,  him- 
self a  host,  he  assuaged  our  sufferings,  limited  our  priva- 
tions, and  upheld  our  tottering  Re2)ublic.  Shall  I  display 
to  you  the  spread  of  the  fire  of  his  soul  by  rehearsing  the 
praises  of  the  hero  of  Saratoga,  and  his  much-loved  com- 
peer of  the  Carolinas  ?  No ;  our  Washington  wears  not 
borrowed  glory.  To  Gates  —  to  Greene,  he  gave  without 
reserve  the  applause  due  to  their  eminent  merit;  and  long 
may  the  chiefs  of  Saratoga  and  of  Eutaw  receive  the  grate- 
ful respect  of  a  grateful  people. 

Moving  in  his  own  orbit,  he  imparted  heat  and  light  to 
his  most  distant  satellites;  and,  combining  the  j^hysical  and 
moral  force  of  all  within  his  sphere,  with  irresistible  weight 
he  took  his  course,  commiserating  folly,  disdaining  vice,  dis- 
maying treason,  and  invigorating  despondency;  until  the 
auspicious  hour  arrived,  when,  united  with  the  intrepid 
forces  of  a  potent  and  magnanimous  ally,  he   brought  to 


SIXTH  READER.  445 

submission  Cornwallis,  since  the  conqueror  of  India;  thus 
finishing  his  long  career  of  military  glory  with  a  luster  cor- 
responding to  his  great  name,  and  in  this  his  last  act  of 
war,  affixing  the  seal  of  fate  to  our  nation's  birth. 

First  in  war,  first  in  peace,  and  first  jn  the  hearts  of  his 
countrymen,  he  was  second  to  none. in  humble  and  endear- 
ing scenes  of  private  life.  Pious,  just,  humane,  temperate, 
sincere,  uniform,  dignified,  and  commanding,  his  example 
was  edifying  to  all  around  him,  as  were  the  effects  of  that 
example  lasting. 

To  his  equals,  he  was  condescending;  to  his  inferiors, 
kind ;  and  to  the  dear  object  of  his  affections,  exemplarily 
tender.  Correct  throughout,  vice  shuddered  in  his  pres- 
ence, and  virtue  always  felt  his  fostering  hand;  the  purity 
of  his  private  character  gave  effulgence  to  his  public 
virtues. 

His  last  scene  comported  with  the  whole  tenor  of  his 
life.  Although  in  extreme  pain,  not  a  sigh,  not  a  groan, 
escaped  him ;  and  with  undisturbed  serenity  he  closed  his 
well-spent  life.  Such  was  the  man  America  has  lost! 
Such  was  the  man  for  whom  our  nation  mourns ! 

Notes. — At  Brandywine  Creek,  in  Pennsylvania,  18,000 
British,  under  Howe,  defeated  13,000  Americans  under  Wash- 
ington. 

Germantown,  near  Philadelphia,  was  the  scene  of  an 
American  defeat  by  the  British,  the  same  generals  command- 
ing as  at  Brandywine. 

The  battle  of  Monmouth,  in  New  Jersey,  resulted  in  victory 
for  the  Americans. 

The  hero  of  Saratoga  was  General  Gates,  who  there  com- 
l)elled  the  surrender  of  General  Burgoyne. 

At  Eutaw  Springs,  General  Greene  defeated  a  superior 
force  of  British. 

CornAvallis,  Charles,  second  earl  and  first  marquis  (b.  1738, 
d.  1805),  surrendered  his  forces  to  a  combined  American  and 
French  army  and  French  fleet  at  Yorktovvn,  in  1781,  virtually 
ending  the  war. 


446  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 


CXXXII.    THE   SOLITARY   REAPER. 

"William  "Wordsworth,  1770-18.50,  the  founder  of  the  "  Lake  School "  of 
poets,  was  boru  at  Cockermouth,  Cumberland,  England.  From  his  boy- 
hood he  was  a  great  lover  and  student  of  nature,  and  it  is  to  his  beautiful 
descriptions  of  landscape,  largely,  that  he  owes  his  fame.  He  was  a 
graduate  of  Cambridge  University,  and  while  there  commenced  the  study 
of  Chaucer,  Spenser,  Milton,  and  Shakespeare,  as  models  for  his  own 
writings.  Two  legacies  having  been  bequeathed  him,  AVordsworth  deter- 
inined  to  make  poetry  the  aim  of  his  life,  and  in  1795  located  at  Racedown 
with  his  sister  Dorothy,  where  he  commenced  the  tragedy  of  "  The 
Borderers."  A  visit  from  Coleridge  at  this  period  made  the  two  jjoets 
friends  for  life.  In  1802  Wordsworth  married  Miss  Mary  Hutchinson,  and 
in  1813  he  settled  at  Rydal  Mount,  on  Lake  Windermere,  where  he  passed 
the  remainder  of  his  life. 

Wordsworth's  poetry  is  remarkable  for  its  extreme  simplicity  of  lan- 
guage. At  first  his  efforts  were  almost  universally  ridiculed,  and  in  1819 
his  entire  income  from  literary  work  had  not  amounted  to  £140.  In  1830 
his  merit  began  to  be  recognized ;  in  1839  Oxfoi'd  University  conferred 
upon  him  the  degree  of  D.  C.  L. ;  and  in  1813  he  wius  made  poet  laureate. 

"  The  Excursion  "  is  by  far  the  most  beautiful  and  the  most  important 
of  Wordsworth's  productions.  "Salisbury  Plain,"  "Tlie  White  Doe  of 
Rylstone,"  "Yarrow  Revisited,"  and  many  of  his  sonnets  and  minor 
poems  ai'e  also  much  admired. 

Behold  her,  single  in  the  field, 
Yon  solitary  Highland  lass ! 
Reaping  and  singing  by  herself; 
Stop  here,  or  gently  jmss! 
Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain, 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain; 
Oh  listen!    for  the  vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound. 


No  nightingale  did  ever  chant 
More  welcome  notes  to  weary  bands 
Of  travelers  in  some  shady  haunt. 
Among  Arabian  sands: 
A  voice  so  thrilling  ne'er  was  heard 
In  spring-time  from  the  cuckoo-bird, 
Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas 
Among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 


SIXTH  READER.  447 

Will  no  oue  tell  me  what  she  sings? — 

Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 

For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things, 

And  battles  long  ago : 

Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 

Familiar  matter  of  to-day? 

Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain. 

That  has  been,  and  may  be  again  ? 

Whate'er  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending; 
I  saw  her  singing  at  her  work. 
And  o'er  the  sickle  bending ;  — 
I  listened  motionless  and  still; 
And,  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill, 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore. 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 


CXXXIII.    VALUE    OF    THE    PRESENT. 

Ralph  "Waldo  Emerson,  1803-1882,  the  celebrated  essayist  and  philoso- 
pher, was  born  in  Boston.  His  father  was  a  Unitarian  minister,  and  the 
son,  after  graduating  at  Harvard  University,  entered  the  ministry  also, 
and  took  charge  of  a  Unitarian  congregation  in  Boston.  His  peculiar 
ideas  on  religious  topics  soon  caused  him  to  retire  from  the  ministry,  and 
from  that  time  he  devoted  hira^self  to  literature.  As  a  lecturer,  Emerson 
attained  a  wide  reputation,  both  in  this  country  and  in  England,  and  he 
is  considered  as  one  of  the  most  independent  and  original  thinkers  of  the 
age.  His  style  is  brief  and  pithy,  dazzling  by  its  wit,  but  sometimes  par- 
adoxical. He  wrote  a  few  poems;  but  they  are  not  generally  admired, 
being  didactic  in  style,  bare,  and  obscure.  Among  his  best  known  pub- 
lications are  his  volume  "Nature,"  and  his  lectures,  "The  Mind  and 
Manners  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,"  "  The  Superlative  in  Manners  and 
Literature,"  "  English  Character  and  Manners,"  and  "  The  Conduct  of 
Life."  In  1850  appeared  "Representative  Men,"  embracing  sketches  of 
Plato,  Swedenborg,  Montaigne,  Shakespeare,  Napoleon,  and  Goothc. 

Such  are  the  days, —  the  earth  is  the  cup,  the  sky  is  the 
cover,  of  the  immense  bounty  of  nature  which  is  offered  us 
for  our  daily  aliment;  but  what  a  force  of  illusion  begins 
life  with   us,  and  attends  us  to  the  end !     We  are  coaxed, 


448  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

flattered,  and  duped,  from  morn  to  eve,  from  birth  to 
death ;  and  where  is  the  old  eye  that  ever  saw  through  the 
deception  ?  The  Hindoos  represent  Maia,  the  illusory  energy 
of  Vishnu,  as  one  of  his  principal  attributes.  As  if,  in  this 
gale  of  warring  elements,  which  life  is,  it  was  necessary  to 
bind  souls  to  human  life  as  mariners  in  a  tempest  lash  them- 
selves to  the  mast  and  bulwarks  of  a  ship,  and  Nature  em- 
ployed certain  illusions  as  her  ties  and  straps,  —  a  rattle,  a 
doll,  an  apple,  for  a  child ;  skates,  a  river,  a  boat,  a  horse, 
a  gun,  for  the  growing  boy; — and  I  will  not  begin  to  name 
those  of  the  youth  and  adult,  for  they  are  numberless. 
Seldom  and  slowly  the  mask  falls,  and  the  pupil  is  per- 
mitted to  see  that  all  is  one  stuff,  cooked  and  painted  under 
many  counterfeit  appearances.  Hume's  doctrine  was  that 
the  circumstances  vary,  the  amount  of  happiness  does  not ; 
that  the  beggar  cracking  fleas  in  the  sunshine  under  a 
hedge,  and  the  duke  rolling  by  in  his  chariot,  the  girl 
equipped  for  her  first  ball,  and  the  orator  returning  tri- 
umphant from  the  debate,  had  different  means,  but  the 
same  quantity  of  pleasant  excitement. 

This  element  of  illusion  lends  all  its  force  to  hide  the 
values  of  present  time.  Who  is  he  that  does  not  always 
find  himself  doing  something  less  than  his  best  task? 
"AVhat  are  you  doing?"  "Oh,  nothing;  I  have  been  doing 
thus,  or  I  shall  do  so  or  so,  but  now  I  am  only — "  Ah! 
poor  dupe,  will  you  never  slip  out  of  the  web  of  the  master 
juggler?  —  never  learn  that,  as  soon  as  the  irrecoverable 
years  have  woven  their  blue  glory  between  to-day  and  us, 
these  passing  hours  shall  glitter  and  draw  us,  as  the  wildest 
romance  and  the  homes  of  beauty  and  poetry?  How  diffi- 
cult to  deal  erect  with  them!  The  events  they  bring,  their 
trade,  entertainments,  and  gossip,  their  urgent  work,  all 
throw  dust  in  the  eyes  and  distract  attention.  He  is  a 
strong  man  who  can  look  them  in  the  eye,  see  through  this 
juggle,  feel  their  identity,  and  keep  his  own ;  who  can  know 
surely   that  one   will    be   like  another   to  the   end   of    the 


SIXTH  READER.  449 

world,  nor  permit  love,  or  death,  or  politics,  or  money,  war, 
or  pleasure,  to  draw  liim  from  liis  task. 

The  world  is  always  equal  to  itself,  and  every  man  in 
moments  of  deeper  thought  is  aj^prised  that  he  is  repeating 
the  experiences  of  the  people  in  the  streets  of  Thebes  or 
Byzantium.  An  everlasting  Now  reigns  in  nature,  which 
hangs  the  same  roses  on  our  bushes  Avhich  charmed  the 
Roman  and  the  Chaldean  in  their  hanging  gardens.  "To 
what  end,  then,"  he  asks,  "  should  I  study  languages,  and 
traverse  countries,  to  learn  so  simple  truths?" 

History  of  ancient  art,  excavated  cities,  recovery  of 
books  and  inscriptions, —  yes,  the  works  were  beautiful,  and 
the  history  worth  knowing;  and  academies  convene  to  settle 
the  claims  of  the  old  schools.  What  journeys  and  measure- 
ments,—  Niebuhr  and  IMiiller  and  La^'ard, —  to  identify  the 
plain  of  Troy  and  Nimroud  town !  And  your  homage  to 
Dante  costs  you  so  much  sailing ;  and  to  ascertain  the  dis- 
coverers of  America  needs  as  much  voyaging  as  the  discovery 
cost.  Poor  child !  that  flexible  clay  of  which  these  old 
brothers  molded  their  admirable  symbols  was  not  Persian, 
nor  Memphian,  nor  Teutonic,  nor  local  at  all,  but  was  com- 
mon lime  and  silex  and  water,  and  sunlight,  the  heat  of  the 
blood,  and  the  heaving  of  the  lungs;  it  was  that  clay  which 
thou  heldest  but  now  in  thy  foolish  hands,  and  threwest 
away  to  go  and  seek  in  vain  in  sepulchers,  mummy-j^its, 
and  old  book-shops  of  Asia  Minor,  Egyj^t,  and  England.  It 
was  the  deep  to-day  which  all  men  scorn ;  the  rich  poverty, 
which  men  hate ;  the  populous,  all-loving  solitude,  which 
men  quit  for  the  tattle  of  towns.  He  lurks,  he  hides, — he 
who  is  success,  reality,  joy,  and  power.  One  of  the  illusions 
is  that  the  present  hour  is  not  the  critical,  decisive  hour. 
Write  it  on  your  heart  that  every  day  is  the  best  day  in  the 
year.  No  man  has  learned  any  tiling  rightly,  until  he 
knows  that  every  day  is  Doomsday.  'Tis  the  old  secret 
of  the  gods  that  they  come  in  low  disguises.  'Tis  the  vulgar 
great  who  come  dizened  with  gold  and  jewels.     Eeal  kings 

6.-38. 


450  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

hide  away  their  crowns  in  their  wardrobes,  and  affect  a 
plain  and  poor  exterior.  In  the  Norse  legend  of  our  ances- 
tors, Odin  dwells  in  a  fisher's  hut,  and  patches  a  boat.  In 
the  Hindoo  legends,  Hari  dwells  a  peasant  among  peasants. 
In  the  Greek  legend,  Apollo  lodges  with  the  shepherds  of 
Admetus ;  and  Jove  liked  to  rusticate  among  the  poor  Ethio- 
pians. So,  in  our  history,  Jesus  is  born  in  a  barn,  and  his 
twelve  peers  are  fishermen.  'Tis  the  very  principle  of 
science  that  Nature  shows  herself  best  in  leasts ;  't  was  the 
maxim  of  Aristotle  and  Lucretius ;  and,  in  modern  times, 
of  Swedenborg  and  of  Hahnemann.  The  order  of  changes 
in  the  egg  determines  the  age  of  fossil  strata.  So  it  was 
the  rule  of  our  poets,  in  the  legends  of  fairy  lore,  that  the 
fairies  largest  in  power  were  the  least  in  size. 

In  the  Christian  graces,  humility  stands  highest  of  all,  in 
the  form  of  the  Madonna ;  and  in  life,  this  is  the  secret  of 
the  wise.  We  owe  to  genius  always  the  same  debt,  of  lifting 
the  curtain  from  the  common,  and  showing  us  that  divinities 
are  sitting  disguised  in  the  seeming  gang  of  gypsies  and 
peddlers.  In  daily  life,  what  distinguishes  the  master  is  the 
using  those  materials  h?  has,  instead  of  looking  about  for 
what  are  more  retiowned,  or  what  others  have  used  well. 
"A  general,"  said  Bonaparte,  "always  has  troops  enough, 
if  he  only  knows  how  to  employ  those  he  has,  and  bivouacs 
with  them."  Do  not  refuse  the  employment  which  the  hour 
brings  you,  for  one  more  ambitious.  The  highest  heaven  of 
wisdom  is  alike  near  from  every  point,  and  thou  must  find 
it,  if  at  all,  by  methods  native  to  thyself  alone. 

XoTE^. — The  Brahmanic  religion  teaches  a  Trinity,  of  which 
Vishnu  is  the  savior  of  mankind. 

Thebes,  the  ancient  capital  of  Upper  Egypt,  was  at  its  most 
flourishing  period  about  1500  B.  C.  Byzantium  was  an  im- 
portant Greek  city  during  the  second  and  third  centuries  B.  C. 

Niebuhr  (b.  1776,  d.  1831),  Miiller  (b.  1797,  d.  1840),  and 

Layard.   (b.    1817,   ),    are   celebrated    archseologists.     The 

first  two  were  Germans,  and  the  last  is  an  Englishman. 


SIXTH  READER.  451 


CXXXIV.    HAPPINESS. 

Alexander  Pope,  1688-1744,  was  the  shining  literary  light  of  the  so- 
called  Augustan  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  the  poetry  of  which  was  distin- 
guished by  the  higliest  degree  of  polisli  and  elegance.  Pope  was  the  son 
of  a  retired  linen-draper,  who  lived  in  a  pleasant  country-house  near  the 
"Windsor  Forest.  He  was  so  badly  deformed  that  his  life  was  "one  long 
disease;"  he  was  remarkably  precocious,  and  had  a  most  intelligent  face, 
witli  great,  flaming,  tender  eyes.  In  disposition  Pope  was  the  reverse  of 
admirable.  He  was  extremely  sensitive,  petulant,  and  supercilious ;  fierce 
and  even  coarse  in  his  attacks  on  opponents ;  boastful  of  his  self-acquired 
wealth  and  of  his  intimacy  with  the  nobility.  The  great  redeeming 
feature  of  his  character  was  his  tender  devotion  to  his  aged  parents. 

As  a  poet,  however.  Pope  challenges  the  highest  admiration.  At  the 
age  of  sixteen  he  commenced  his  "  Pastorals,"  and  when  only  twentj'-one 
published  his  "  Essay  on  Criticism, ""pronounced  "the  finest  piece  of  argu- 
mentative and  reasoning  poetry  in  the  English  language."  His  reputa- 
tion was  now  firmly  established,  and  his  literary  activity  ceased  only  at 
his  death  ;  although,  during  the  latter  portion  of  his  life,  he  was  so  weak 
physically  that  he  was  unable  to  dress  himself  or  even  to  rise  from  bed 
without  assistance.  Pope's  great  admiration  was  Dryden,  whose  style  he 
studied  and  copied.  He  lacks  the  latter's  strength,  but  in  elegance  and 
polish  he  remains  uneqnaled. 

Pope's  most  remarkable  work  is  "  The  Rape  of  the  Lock ;"  his  greatest, 
the  translation  into  English  verse  of  Homer's  "Iliad"  and  "Odyssey." 
His  "Epistle  of  Eloisa  to  Abelard,"  "The  Dunciad,"  and  the  "Essay  on 
Man  "  are  also  famous  productions.  He  published  an  edition  of  "  Shake- 
speare," which  was  awaited  with  great  curiosity,  and  received  with  equal 
disappointment.  During  the  three  years  following  its  appearance,  he 
united  with  Swift  and  Arbnthnot  in  writing  the  "  Miscellanies,"  an  exten- 
sive satire  on  the  abuses  of  learning  and  the  extravagances  of  j)hilosophy. 
His  "  Epistles,"  addressed  to  various  distinguished  men,  and  covering  a 
period  of  four  years,  were  copied  after  those  of  Horace;  they  were  marked 
by  great  clearness,  neatness  of  diction,  and  good  sense,  and  by  Pope's 
usual  elegance  and  grace.  His  "  Imitations  of  Horace "  was  left  unfin- 
ished at  his  death. 

The  following  selection  is  an  extract  from  the  "  Essay  on  Man :" 

Oh,  sons  of  earth !    attempt  ye  still  to  rise, 

By  mountain?  piled  on  mountains,  to  the  skies? 

Heaven  still  with  laughter  the  vain  toil  surveys, 

And  buries  madmen  in  the  heaps  they  raise 

Know  all  the  good  that  individuals  find, 

Or  God  and  nature  meant  to  mere  mankind, 

Reason's  Avhole  pleasure,  all  the  joys  of  sense. 

Lie  in  three  words, —  health,  peace,  and  competence. 


452  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

But  health  consists  with  temperance  alone; 

And  peace,  O  virtue !    peace  is  all  thy  own. 

The  good  or  bad  the  gifts  of  fortune  gain ; 

But  these  less  taste  them  as  they  worse  obtain. 

Say,  in  pursuit  of  profit  or  delight. 

Who  risk  the  most,  that  take  wrong  means  or  right? 

Of  vice  or  virtue,  whether  blest  or  curst, 

Which  meets  contempt,  or  which  comj)assion  first? 

Count  all  th'  advantage  prosperous  vice  attains, 
'T  is  but  what  virtue  flies  from  and  disdains : 
And  grant  the  bad  what  happiness  they  would, 
One  they  must  want,  Avhich  is,  to  pass  for  good. 
Oh,  blind  to  truth,  and  God's  whole  scheme  below, 
Who  fancy  bliss  to  vice,  to  virtue  woe ! 
Who  sees  and  follows  that  great  scheme  the  best, 
Best  knows  the  blessing,  and  will  most  be  blest. 

But  fools  the  good  alone  unhappy  call, 

For  ills  or  accidents  that  chance  to  all. 

Think  we,  like  some  weak  prince,  the  Eternal  Cause, 

Prone  for  his  favorites  to  reverse  his  laws? 

Shall  burning  JEtna,  if  a  sage  requires. 

Forget  to  thunder,  and  recall  her  fires? 

AVhen  the  loose  mountain  trembles  from  on  high. 

Shall  gravitation  cease,  if  you  go  by? 

"But  sometimes  virtue  starves  while  vice  is  fed." 
What,  then  ?     Is  the  reward  of  virtue  bread  ? 
That,  vice  may  merit,  't  is  the  price  of  toil ; 
The  knave  deserves  it  when  he  tills  the  soil, 
The  knave  deserves  it.  when  he  tempts  the  main, 
Where  folly  fights  for  kings  or  dives  for  gain. 
Honor  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise; 
Act  well  your  part,  there  all  the  honor  lies. 


SIXTH  READER.  453 

Worth  makes  the  man,  and  Avaiit  of  it  the  fellow ; 

The  rest  is  all  but  leather  or  i^runella. 

A  wit 's  a  feather,  and  a  chief  a  rod, 

An  honest  man  's  the  noblest  Avork  of  God. 

One  self-approving  hour  whole  years  outweighs 

Of  stupid  starers,  and  of  loud  huzzas. 

Know  then  this  truth  (enough  for  man  to  know) 

"Virtue  alone  is  happiness  below." 

The  only  point  where  human  bliss  stands  still, 

And  tastes  the  good  Avithout  the  fall  to  ill ; 

Where  only  merit  constant  jiay  receives, 

Is  blest  in  what  it  takes  and  what  it  gives. 


OXXXV.    MARION. 

"William  Gilmore  Simms,  1806-1870,  oue  of  the  most  versatile  prolific, 
and  popular  of  American  authors,  was  born  at  Charleston,  South  Caroljna. 
His  family  was  poor,  and  his  means  of  education  were  limited,  yet  he 
managed  to  prepare  himself  for  the  bar,  to  wliich  he  was  admitted  when 
twenty-one  years  of  age.  The  law  proving  uncongenial,  he  abandoned  it, 
and  in  18l'8  became  editor  of  the  "Charleston  City  Gazette."  From  this 
time  till  his  death  his  literary  activity  was  unceasing,  and  his  writings 
were  so  numerous  tliat  it  is  possible  only  to  group  them  under  their 
various  heads.  They  comprise  Biography  ;  History;  Historical  Romance, 
both  Foreign  and  Domestic,  the  latter  being  further  divided  into  Colonial, 
Revolutionary,  and  Border  Romances;  Pure  Romance;  The  Drama; 
Poetry;  and  Criticism;  besides  miscellaneous  books  and  pamphlets. 

In  the  midst  of  this  remarkable  literary  activity,  Mr.  Simms  still 
found  time  to  devote  to  the  affairs  of  state,  being  for  several  years  a 
member  of  the  South  Carolina  Legislature.  He  was  also  a  lecturer,  and 
was  connected  editorially  with  several  magazines.  Most  of  his  time  was 
spent  at  his  summer-house  in  Charleston,  and  at  his  winter  residence, 
"  Woodlands,"  on  a  plantation  at  INIidway,  S.  C. 

The  following  selection  is  from  "  The  Life  and  Times  of  Francis  Marion." 

Art  had  done  little  to  increase  the  comforts  or  the  securi- 
ties of  his  fortress.  It  was  one,  complete  to  his  hands,  from 
those  of  nature  —  such  an  one  as  must  have  delighted  the 
generous  Englii^h  outlaw  of  Sherwood  Forest;  insulated  bv 
deep  ravines  and  rivers,  a  dense  forest  of  mighty  trees,  and 


454  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

interminable  undergrowth.  The  vine  and  brier  guarded  his 
passes.  The  laurel  and  the  shrub,  the  vine  and  sweet- 
scented  jessamine  roofed  his  dwelling,  and  clambered  up 
between  his  closed  eyelids  and  the  stars.  Obstructions 
scarcely  penetrable  by  any  foe,  crowded  the  pathways  to 
his  tent;  and  no  footstep  not  practiced  in  the  secret,  and 
to  "the  manner  born,"  might  pass  unchallenged  to  his  mid- 
night rest.  The  swamj)  was  his  moat;  his  bulwarks  were 
the  deep  ravines,  which,  watched  by  sleepless  rifles,  were 
quite  as  impregnable  as  the  castles  on  the  Rhine.  Here, 
in  the  possession  of  his  fortress,  the  partisan  slept  secure. 

His  movements  were  marked  by  equal  promptitude  and 
wariness.  He  suffered  no  risks  from  a  neglect  of  proper 
precaution.  His  habits  of  circumspection  and  resolve  ran 
together  in  happy  unison.  His  plans,  carefully  considered 
beforehand,  were  always  timed  with  the  happiest  reference 
to  the  condition  and  feelings  of  his  men.  To  prepare  that 
condition,  and  to  train  those  feelings,  were  the  chief  employ- 
ment of  his  repose.  He  knew  his  game,  and  how  it  should 
be  played,  before  a  step  was  taken  or  a  weapon  drawn. 

When  he  himself  or  any  of  his  parties  left  the  island 
upon  an  expedition,  they  advanced  along  no  beaten  paths. 
They  made  them  as  they  went.  He  had  the  Indian  faculty 
in  perfection,  of  gathering  his  course  from  the  sun,  from  the 
stars,  from  the  bark  and  the  tops  of  trees,  and  such  other 
natural  guides  as  the  woodman  acquires  only  through  long 
and  watchful  experience. 

Many  of  the  trails  thus  opened  by  him,  ujion  these  expe- 
ditions, are  now  the  ordinary  avenues  of  the  country.  On 
starting,  he  almost  invariably  struck  into  the  woods,  and 
seeking  the  heads  of  the  larger  water-courses,  crossed  them 
at  their  first  and  small  beginnings.  He  destroyed  the  bridges 
where  he  could.  He  preferred  fords.  The  former  not 
only  facilitated  the  progress  of  less  fearless  enemies,  but 
apprised  them  of  his  own  approach.  If  speed  was  essential, 
a  more  direct  but  not  less  cautious  route  was  pursued. 


SIXTH  READER.  455 

He  intrusted  his  schemes  to  nobody,  not  even  his  most 
confidential  officers.  He  consulted  with  them  respectfully, 
heard  them  patiently,  weighed  their  suggestions,  and  silently 
approached  his  conclusions.  They  knew  his  determinations 
only  from  his  actions.  He  left  no  track  behind  him,  if 
it  were  possible  to  avoid  it.  He  was  often  vainly  hunted 
after  by  his  own  detachments.  He  was  more  apt  at  finding 
them  than  they  him.  His  scouts  were  taught  a  peculiar 
and  shrill  whistle,  which,  at  night,  could  be  heard  at  a 
most  astonishing  distance.  We  are  reminded  of  a  signal 
of  Roderick  Dhu:  — 

«'  He  whistled  shrill, 
And  he  was  answered  from  the  hill; 
Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlew, 
From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew." 

His  expeditions  were  frequently  long,  and  his  men,  hur- 
rying forth  without  due  preparation,  not  unfrequently  suf- 
fered much  privation  from  want  of  food.  To  guard  against 
this  danger,  it  was  their  habit  to  watch  his  cook.  If  they 
saw  him  unusually  busied  in  preparing  supplies  of  the  rude, 
portable  food  which  it  was  Marion's  custom  to  carry  on  such 
occasions,  they  knew  what  was  before  them,  and  j^rovided 
themselves  accordingly.  In  no  other  way  could  they  arrive 
at  their  general's  intentions.  His  favorite  time  for  moving 
was  with  the  setting  sun,  and  then  it  was  known  that  the 
march  would  continue  all  night. 

His  men  were  badly  clothed  in  homespun, — a  light  wear 
which  afforded  little  warmth.  They  slept  in  the  open  air, 
and  frequently  without  a  blanket.  Their  ordinary  food 
consisted  of  sweet  potatoes,  garnished,  on  fortunate  occa- 
sions, with  lean  beef.  Their  swords,  unless  taken  from  the 
enemy,  were  made  out  of  mill-saws,  roughly  manufactured 
by  a  forest  blacksmith. 

His  scouts  were  out  in  all  directions,  and  at  all  hours. 
They  did  the  double  duty  of  patrol  and  spies.  They  hov- 
ered about  the  posts  of  the  enemy,  crouching  in  the  thicket, 


456  ECLECTIC  SEBIES. 

or  darting  along  the  plain,  picking  up  prisoners,  and  in- 
formation, and  spoils  together.  They  cut  off  stragglers, 
encountered  patrols  of  the  foe,  and  arrested  his  supplies  on 
the  way  to  the  garrison.  Sometimes  the  single  scout,  buried 
in  the  thick  tops  of  the  tree,  looked  down  upon  the  march 
of  his  legions,  or  hung,  perched  over  the  hostile  encamp- 
ment, till  it  slept;  then  slipping  down,  stole  through  the 
silent  host,  carrying  off  a  drow^sy  sentinel,  or  a  favorite 
charger,  upon  which  the  daring  spy  flourished  conspicuous 
among  his  less  fortunate  companions. 

Notes. — The  outla'W  of  Sherwood  Forest  was  Robin  Hood. 

Roderick  Dhu  is  a  character  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's  poem, 

"The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  from  which  the  quotation  is  taken. 


CXXXVI.  A  COMMON  THOUGHT. 

Henry  Timrod,  1829-1867,  was  born  at  Cliarleston,  South  Carolina.  He 
inherited  his  fatlier's  literary  taste  and  al)ility,  and  liad  tlie  advantages 
of  a  liberal  education.  He  entered  tlie  University  of  Georgia  before  he 
was  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  wliile  tliere  commenced  his  career  as  a 
poet.  Poverty  and  ill  health  compelled  him  to  leave  tlie  university 
witliout  taking  a  degree;  he  then  commenced  the  study  of  law,  and  for 
ten  years  taught  in  various  private  families.  At  tlie  outbreak  of  the  war, 
in  18G0,  he  warmly  espoused  the  Southern  cause,  and  wrote  many  stirring 
war  lyrics.  In  1863  he  joined  the  Army  of  the  West,  as  correspondent  of 
the  Cliarleston  "  Mercury,"  and  in  1864  he  became  editor  of  the  "  South 
Carolinian,"  publislied  first  at  Coluinbia  and  later  at  Charleston.  He  also 
served  for  a  time  as  assistant-secretary  to  Governor  Orr.  Tlie  advance  of 
Sherman's  army  reduced  him  to  poverty,  and  he  wr.s  compelled  to  the 
greatest  drudgery  in  orfler  to  earn  a  bare  living.  His  health  soon  broke 
down,  and  he  died  of  liemorrhage  of  the  lungs.  The  following  little  poem 
seems,  almost,  to  have  been  written  under  a  presentiment,  so  accurately 
does  it  describe  tlie  closing  incidents  of  tlie  poet's  life. 

The  first  volume  of  Tinirod's  poems  appeared  in  1S60.  A  later  edition, 
with  a  memoir  of  tlie  author,  was  published  in  New  York  in  1873. 

Somewhere  on  this  earthly  planet 
In  the  dust  of  flowers  that  be, 

In  the  dew-drop,  in  the  sunshine, 
Sleeps  a  solemn  day  for  me. 


SIXTH  READER.  457 

At  this  wakeful  hour  of  midnight 

I  behold  it  diiwii  in  mist, 
And  I  hear  a  sound  of  sobbing 

Through  the  darkness, —  Hist!  oh,  hist! 

In  a  dim  and  musky  chamber, 

I  am  breathing  life  away ; 
Some  one  draws  a  curtain  softly, 

And  I  watch  the  broadening  day. 

As  it  purples  in  the  zenith, 

As  it  brightens  on  the  lawn. 
There's  a  hush  of  death  about  me, 

And  a  whisper,  ' '  He  is  gone ! " 


CXXXVII.     A   DEFINITE    AIM   IN   READING. 

Noah  Porter,  ISU ,  was  born  at  Fannington,  Conn.,  and  graduated 

at  Yale  in  JS31.  He  remained  in  New  Haven  as  a  school-teacher,  a  tutor 
in  college,  and  a  student  in  the  theological  department  until  1836,  when 
he  entered  the  ministry.  In  18i6  he  was  recalled  to  the  college  as  Clark 
Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy  and  Metaphysics;  and  in  1.S.58  he  also 
assumed  the  duties  of  the  professorship  of  Systematic  Theology,  for  a 
period  of  seven  years.  Upon  the  retirement  of  President  Woolsey  In 
1871,  he  was  elected  to  fill  the  office,  which  he  still  holds,  being  the 
eleventh  president  of  the  college. 

President  Porter's  greatest  literary  work  is  entitled,  "The  Human 
Intellect:  "With  an  Introduction  upon  Psychology  and  the  Human  Soul." 
It  is  remarkable  for  the  clear  thought  and  sound  judgment  it  displays, 
as  well  as  for  its  broad  scholarship;  and  it  has  been  pronounced  "the 
most  complete  and  exhaustive  exhibition  of  the  cognitive  faculties  of 
the  human  soul  to  be  found  in  our  language."  His  other  important 
works  are:  "The  Sciences  of  Nature  versus  the  Science  of  Man,"  which  is 
a  review  of  the  doctrines  of  Herbert  Spencer;  "American  Colleges  and 
the  American  Public;''  and  the  book  from  which  the  following  selection 
Is  taken,  namely,  "  Books  and  Reading."  Besides  these  he  has  written 
numerous  essays,  contributions  to  periodicals,  etc.  During  his  professor- 
ship he  was  called  upon  to  act  as  chief  editor  in  the  important  work  of 
revising  "  Webster's  Dictionary."  The  edition  of  1864  was  the  result  of 
his  careful  oversight,  and  the  subsequent  revisions  have  also  been  under 
his  superintendence. 

In  reading,  we  do  well  to  propose  to  ourselves  definite 
ends  and    purposes.     The  more  distinctly  we  are  aware  of 

6,-33. 


458  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

our  own  wants  and  desires  in  reading,  the  more  definite  and 
permanent  will  be  our  acquisitions.  Hence  it  is  a  good  rule 
to  ask  ourselves  frequently,  "Why  am  I  reading  this  book, 
essay,  or  poem  ?  or  why  am  I  reading  it  at  the  present  time 
rather  than  any  other?"  It  may  often  be  a  satisfying 
answer,  that  it  is  convenient ;  that  the  book  happens  to  be 
at  hand ;  or  that  we  read  to  pass  away  the  time.  Such 
reasons  are  often  very  good,  but  they  ought  not  always  to 
satisfy  us.  Yet  the  very  habit  of  proposing  these  questions, 
however  they  may  be  answered,  will  involve  the  calling  of 
ourselves  to  account  for  our  reading,  and  the  consideration 
of  it  in  the  light  of  wisdom  and  duty. 

The  distinct  cousciousness  of  some  object  at  present  be- 
fore us,  imparts  a  manifold  greater  interest  to  the  contents 
of  any  volume.  It  imparts  to  the  reader  an  appropriate 
power,  a  force  of  affinity,  by  which  he  insensibly  and  un- 
consciously attracts  to  himself  all  that  has  a  near  or  even  a 
remote  relation  to  the  end  for  which  he  reads.  Any  one  is 
conscious  of  this  who  reads  a  story  with  the  purjwse  of  re- 
peating it  to  an  absent  friend;  or  an  essay  or  a  report  with 
the  design  of  using  its  facts  or  arguments  in  a  debate;  or 
a  poem  with  the  design  of  reviving  its  imagery,  and  recit- 
ing its  finest  passages.  Indeed,  one  never  learns  to  read 
effectively  until  he  learns  to  read  in  such  a  spirit — not 
always,  indeed,  for  a  definite  end,  yet  always  with  a  mind 
attent  to  api:)ropriate  and  retain  and  turn  to  the  uses  of 
culture,  if  not  to  a  more  direct  application. 

The  private  history  of  every  self-educated  man,  from 
Franklin  onwards,  attests  that  they  all  were  uniformly 
not  only  earnest  but  select  iu  their  reading,  and  that  they 
selected  their  books  with  distinct  reference  to  the  purposes 
for  which  they  used  them.  Indeed,  the  reason  why  self- 
trained  men  so  often  surpass  men  who  are  trained  by  others 
in  the  effectiveness  and  success  of  their  reading,  is  that 
they  know  for  what  they  read  and  study,  and  have  definite 
aims   and    wishes   in   all    their  dealings   with    books.      The 


SIXTH  READER.  459 

omnivorous  and  indiscriminate  reader,  who  is  at  the  same 
time  a  listless  and  passive  reader,  however  ardent  is  his 
curiosity,  can  never  be  a  reader  of  the  most  efiective  sort. 

Another  good  rule  is  suggested  by  the  foregoing.  Always 
have  some  solid  reading  in  hand;  i.  e.,  some  work  or  author 
which  we  carry  forward  from  one  day  to  another,  or  one 
hour  of  leisure  to  the  next,  with  persistence,  till  we  have 
finished  whatever  we  have  undertaken.  There  are  many 
great  and  successful  readers  who  do  not  observe  this  rule, 
but  it  is  a  good  rule  notwithstanding. 

The  writer  once  called  upon  one  of  the  most  extensive 
and  persevering  of  modern  travelers,  at  an  early  hour  of 
the  day,  to  attend  him  upon  a  walk  to  a  distant  village. 
It  was  after  breakfast,  and  though  he  had  but  few  minutes 
at  command,  he  was  sitting  with  book  in  hand  —  a  book  of 
solid  history  he  was  perusing  day  after  day.  He  remarked : 
"This  has  been  my  habit  for  years  in  all  my  wanderings. 
It  is  the  one  habit  which  gives  solidity  to  my  intellectual 
activities  and  imparts  tone  to  my  life.  It  is.  only  in  this 
way  that  I  can  overcome  and  counteract  the  tendency  to 
the  dissipation  of  my  powers  and  the  distraction  of  my 
attention,  as  strange  persons  and  strange  scenes  j^resent 
themselves  from  day  to  day." 

To  the  rule  already  given  —  read  with  a  definite  aim  — 
we  could  add  the  rule  —  make  your  aims  to  be  definite  by 
continuously  holding  them  rigidly  to  a  single  book  at  all 
times,  except  when  relaxation  requires  you  to  cease  to 
work,  and  to  live  for  amusement  and  play.  Always  have 
at  least  one  iron  in  the  fire,  and  kindle  the  fire  at  least 
once  every  day. 

It  is  implied  in  the  preceding  that  we  should  read  upon 
definite  subjects,  and  with  a  certain  method  and  proportion 
in  the  choice  of  our  books.  If  we  have  a  single  object  to 
accomplish  in  our  reading  for  the  present,  that  object  will 
of  necessity  direct  the  choice  of  what  we  read,  and  we  shall 
arrange  our  reading  with  reference  to  this  single  end.     This 


460  ECLECTIC  SEBIES. 

will  be  a  nucleus  around  wliicli  our  reading  will  for  tlhe 
moment   naturally  gather  and   arrange  itself. 

If  several  subjects  seem  to  us  equally  important  and 
interesting,  we  should  dispose  of  them  in  order,  and  give 
to  each  for  the  time  our  chief  and  perhaps  our  exclusive 
attention.  That  this  is  wise  is  so  obvious  as  not  to  require 
illustration.  "One  thing  at  a  time,"  is  an  accepted  con- 
dition for  all  efficient  activity,  whether  it  is  employed  upon 
things  or  thoughts,  upon  men  or  books.  If  five  or  ten 
separate  topics  have  equal  claim  upon  our  interest  and 
attention,  we  shall  do  to  each  the  amplest  justice,  if  we 
make  each  in  its  turn  the  central  subject  of  our  reading. 
There  is  little  danger  of  weariness  or  monotony  from  the 
workings  of  such  a  rule. 

Most  single  topics  admit  or  require  a  considerable  variety 
of  books,  each  different  from  the  other,  and  each  supple- 
menting the  other.  Hence  it  is  one  of  the  best  of  practices 
in  prosecuting  a  course  of  reading,  to  read  every  author 
who  can  cast  any  light  upon  the  subject  which  we  have  in 
hand.  For  example,  if  we  are  reading  the  history  of  the 
Great  Rebellion  in  England,  we  should  read,  if  we  can,  not 
a  single  author  only,  as  Clarendon,  but  a  half-dozen  or  a 
half-score,  each  of  whom  writes  from  his  own  point  of  view, 
supplies  what  another  omits,  or  corrects  Avhat  he  under-  or 
overstates. 

But,  besides  the  formal  histories  of  the  period,  there  are 
the  various  novels,  the  scenes  and  characters  of  which  are 
placed  in  those  times,  such  as  Scott's  Woodstock;  there  are 
also  diaries,  such  as  those  by  Evelyn,  Pepys,  and  Burton; 
and  there  are  memoirs,  such  as  those  of  Col.  Hutchinson; 
while  the  last  two  have  been  imitated  in  scores  of  fictions. 
There  are  poems,  such  as  those  of  Andrew  Marvell,  Milton, 
and  Dryden.  There  are  also  shoals  of  political  tracts  and 
pamphlets,  of  hand-bills  and  caricatures. 

We  name  these  various  descriptions  of  works  and  classes 
of  reading,    not   because   we   suppose  all   of  them   are  ao 


SIXTH  HEADER.  461 

cessible  to  those  readers  who  live  at  a  clistance  from  large 
public  libraries,  or  because  we  would  advise  every  one  who 
may  have  access  to  such  libraries,  to  read  all  these  books 
and  classes  of  books  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  because  wc 
would  illustrate  how  great  is  the  variety  of  books  and  read- 
ing matter  that  are  grouped  around  a  single  topic,  and  are 
embraced  within  a  single  period. 

Every  person  must  judge  for  himself  how  long  a  time 
he  can  bestow  ujion  any  single  subject,  or  how  many  and 
various  are  the  books  in  respect  to  it  Avhich  it  is  wise  to 
read;  but  of  this  every  one  may  be  assured,  tliat  it  is  far 
easier,  far  more  agreeable,  and  far  more  economical  of  time 
and  energy,  to  concentrate  the  attention  upon  a  single  sul)- 
ject  at  a  time  than  to  extend  it  to  half  a  score,  and  that 
six  books  read  in  succession  or  together  upon  a  single  topic, 
are  far  more  interesting  and  profitable  than  twice  as  many 
which  treat  of  topics  remotely  related.  A  lady  well  known 
to  the  writer,  of  the  least  possible  scholarly  pretensions  or 
literary  notoriety,  spent  fifteen  months  of  leisure,  snatched 
by  fragments  from  onerous  family  cares  and  brilliant  social 
engagements,  in  reading  the  history  of  Greece  as  written 
by  a  great  variety  of  authors  and  as  illustrated  by  many 
accessories  of  literature  and  art. 

Nor  should  it  be  argued  that  such  rules  as  these,  or  the 
habits  which  they  enjoin,  are  suitable  for  scholars  only,  or 
for  people  who  have  much  leisure  for  reading.  It  should 
rather  be  urged  that  those  who  can  read  the  fewest  books 
and  who  have  at  command  the  scantiest  time,  should  aim 
to  read  with  the  greatest  concentration  and  method;  should 
occupy  all  of  their  divided  energy  with  single  centers  of 
interest,  and  husband  the  few  houi's  which  they  can  com- 
mand, in  reading  whatever  converges  to  a  definite,  because 
to  a  single,  impression. 


462  ECLECTIC  SEBIES. 


CXXXVIII.    ODE  TO    MT.    BLANC. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  1772-1834,  was  born  in  Devonshire,  En- 
gland, and  was  educated  at  Christ's  Hospital  and  Cambridge  University. 
Through  poverty  he  was  compelled  to  enlist  in  the  army,  but  his  literary 
attainments  soon  brought  him  into  notice,  and  he  was  enabled  to 
withdraw  from  the  distasteful  life. 

Coleridge's  fame  arises  chiefly  from  his  poems,  of  which  the  "  Rime  of 
the  Ancient  Mariner,"  "  Genevieve,"  and  "  Christabel "  may  be  classed 
among  the  best  of  English  poetry.  He  also  wrote  a  number  of  dramas, 
besides  numerous  essays  on  religious  and  political  topics.  As  a  conver- 
sationalist Coleridge  had  a  remarkable  reputation,  and  among  his  ardent 
admirers  and  friends  may  be  ranked  Southey,  Wordsworth,  Lovell, 
Lamb,  and  De  Quincey.  He  and  his  friends  Southey  and  Lovell  married 
sisters,  and  talked  at  one  time  of  founding  a  community  on  the  banks  of 
the  Susquehanna.  Although  possessing  such  brilliant  natural  gifts,  Cole- 
ridge fell  far  short  of  what  he  might  have  attained,  through  a  great  lack 
of  energy  and  application,  increased  by  an  excessive  use  of  opium. 


Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  mommg  star 
In  his  steep  course?     So  long  he  seems  to  pause 
On  thy  bald,  awful  head,  O  sovran  Blanc! 
The  Arve  and  Arveiron  at  thy  base 
Rave  ceaselessly ;    but  thou,  most  awful  Form, 
Eisest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines, 
How  silently!     Around  thee  and  above, 
Deep  is  the  air  and  dark,  substantial,  black — 
An  ebon  mass:  methinks  thou  piercest  it, 
As  with  a  wedge!     But  when  I  look  again. 
It  is  thine  own  calm  home,  thy  crystal  shrine, 
Thy  habitation  from  eternity ! 

0  dread  and  silent  Mount!    I  gazed  upon  thee 
Till  thou,  still  present  to  the  bodily  sense. 

Didst  vanish  from  my  thoughts:    entranced  in  prayer, 

1  worshiped  the  Invisible  alone. 

Yet,  like  some  sweet,  beguiling  melody, 
So  sweet  we  know  not  we  are  listening  to  it, 
Thou,  the  meanwhile,  wast  blending  with  my  thought — 
Yea,  with  my  life  and  life's  own  secret  joy  — 


SIXTH  BEADEB,  463 

Till  the  dilating  soul,  enrapt,  transfused, 

Into  the  mighty  visiou  passing — there, 

As  in  her  natural  form,  swelled  vast  to  Heaven  I 

Awake,  my  soul !    not  only  passive  jiraise 
Thou  owest!    not  alone  these  swelling  tears, 
INIute  thanks  and  secret  ecstasy !     Awake, 
Voice  of  sweet  song!     Awake,  my  heart,  awake! 
Green  vales  and  icy  cliffs,  all  join  my  hymn. 

Thou  first  and  chief,  sole  sovran  of  the  vale! 
Oh,  struggling  with  the  darkness  all  the  night, 
And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars. 
Or  when  they  climb  the  sky,  or  when  they  sink — 
Companion  of  the  morning  star  at  dawn, 
Thyself  Earth's  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn 
Co-herald  —  wake,  oh  wake,  and  utter  praise! 
Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  earth? 
Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light? 
Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams? 

And  you,  ye  five  w'ild  torrents  fiercely  glad! 
Who  called  you  forth  from  night  and  utter  death, 
From  dark  and  icy  caverns  called  you  forth, 
Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks, 
For  ever  shattered,  and  the  same  for  ever? 
Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life. 
Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  fury,  and  your  joy, 
Unceasing  thunder,  and  eternal  foam? 
And  who  commanded  (and  the  silence  came). 
Here  let  the  billows  stiffen,  and  have  rest? 

Ye  ice-falls !    ye  that  from  the  mountain's  brow 
Adown  enormous  ravines  slope  amain  — 
Torrents,  methinks,  that  heard  a  mighty  voice. 
And  stopped  at  once  amid  their  maddest  plunge ! 


464  ECLECTIC  SERIES. 

Motionless  torrents!    silent  cataracts! 

Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  Heaven 

Beneath  the  keen  full  moon?     Who  bade  the  sun 

Clothe  you  with  rainbows?     Who,  with  living  flowers 

Of  loveliest  blue,  spread  garlands  at  your  feet? — 

God! — let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  nations, 

Answer!    and  let  the  ice-plains  echo,  God! 

God !    sing  ye  meadow-streams  with  gladsome  voice ! 

Ye  pine  groves,  with  your  soft  and  soul-like  sounds! 

And  they,  too,  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow, 

And  in  their  perilous  fall  shall  thunder,  God! 

Ye  living  flowers  that  skirt  the  eternal  frost! 
Ye  wild  goats  sporting  round  the  eagle's  nest! 
Ye  eagles,  playmates  of  the  mountain  storm! 
Ye  lightnings,  the  dread  arrows  of  the  clouds! 
Ye  signs  and  wonders  of  the  elements! 
Utter  forth,  God,  and  fill  the  hills  with  praise! 

Thou,  too,  hoar  Mount!  with  thy  sky-pointing  peaks, 
Oft  from  whose  feet  the  avalanche,  unheard, 
Shoots  downward,  glittering  through  the  pure  serene, 
Into  the  depth  of  clouds  that  veil  thy  breast  — 
Thou  too  again,  stupendous  ]\Iountain !    thou 
That  as  I  raise  my  head,  awhile  bowed  low 
In  adoration,  upward  from  thy  base, 
Slow  traveling,  with  dim  eyes  suff'used  with  tears. 
Solemnly  seemest,  like  a  vapory  cloud, 
To  rise  before  me. — Rise,  oh  ever  rise! 
Rise  like  a  cloud  of  incense  from  the  Earth! 
Thou  kingly  spirit  throned  among  the  hills. 
Thou  dread  embassador  from  Earth  to  Heaven, 
Great  Hierarch !    tell  thou  the  silent  sky,       ^ 
^nd  tell  the  stars,  and  tell  yon  rising  sun,  (/ 
Earth,  with  her  thousand  voices,  praises  God. 


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